


Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Stormseeker Saga [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Character Death, Crossover, Drug Addiction, Gen, Immortality, Murder, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Poison, Present Tense, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 300,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexen Chelseer is an interdimensional time traveler who doesn't seem to stay dead. He comes to Hogwarts in hopes of finding a way to save his family. But this world's Harry Potter died at the age of 5. Can Lexen fill the shoes of the Boy-Who-Lived? How many times does he have to die in order to protect those he cares about?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dawn of a New Day

The Nexus of Torn Elkandu sends me hurtling across the Void and to another world. I've never been to Wizarding Earth before, and don't really know what to expect. But anything is better than staying behind to die again. 

When the glowing mists clear away, I'm standing in a dusty alleyway in between two buildings. We generally try to target the Nexus so that we're out of sight of any immediate bystanders. I poke my head out of the alley and look around the village. The buildings are quaint, made of wood and thatch, with signs hanging outside the shops declaring their names. 

It would look just like any town on Lezaria, if it weren't for the fact that the sun is dimmer and the gravity lighter. That'll take some getting used to. Sure, Torn Elkandu doesn't have a sun at all, but that was different, considering its sky is always swirling purple-black. That, coupled with the fact that its gravity is about the same as this, always made it feel a little less than real. Which makes sense, considering it's located in the Ethereal Plane and not the physical world at all. 

But this is a real, physical world, and I still feel like my feet aren't properly connected to the ground and that the sky is lit by merely a lamp rather than a real sun. Yeah, I'll definitely have to get used to this. Provided I survive the day, and actually get to spend years here. 

So, I have about five hours before the 'moment of truth', give or take how long after that it might take for them to come after me, if they're coming. I feel like getting drunk. I've never really drunk before, and some would say I'm too young for that anyway, but right now... I just want to make these memories fade. That's a dangerous path, though. I don't really want to forget. I don't want to forget a thing. I must remember what I'm doing and why. I must never forget this. 

No, I should really take the opportunity to get started on learning. If I have to become a god six hours at a time, I damned well _will_ , somehow. I'll find a way. 

There's a building that looks like a bookstore, judging by the sign. I head inside. It's not a very big shop, but it's packed with narrow aisles and shelves stacked with books. They're all marked with price tags. Three sickles for this one, a galleon for that one. I don't know how much those really are, never mind have any local currency on me. 

No matter. I can still browse. I skim through book after book, to see about getting a handle on how they use magic in this world. From the sounds of things, they're pretty reliant on using wands as magical foci and chanting arcane words. It seems like an excessively restrictive form of magic, but at least I suppose it would be easy to learn to start off with. 

"Can I help you find something?" the little old lady watching the shop says from over my shoulder. 

"I'm just looking," I say. "But most of this is way beyond me." 

"I would expect so," she says. "Starting at Hogwarts this year?" 

"Hopefully," I say. 

"Afraid you won't be accepted? Or not sure that you'll be able to pay the tuition?" 

"Both, really," I admit. There's tuition? Damn, I suppose I'll have to find a way to get some local currency, then. 

"Well, good luck with that. Let me know if you need anything or decide on something to buy." 

"Alright," I say. I spend the next few hours looking through books, skimming over basics. The little old lady doesn't bother me again or seem to mind me taking my time about it. 

Six hours. I don't need to look at a clock or anything. I _know_ how much time has passed. Perhaps it's one of the benefits of being a Time Mage. I grow too nervous to even continue browsing, and slide back the book I was looking at onto the shelf, and head out of the building. I'd rather not have anyone else caught in the crossfire if I can help it. 

I head out to the edge of the lake, and look across at the castle. It's a large castle, with several spiring towers, and it looks like there's a forest behind it as well. I'd love to see what it looks like inside. I'd love to learn what they might be teaching there. 

I sit down on the grass on the lake shore. It's a warm summer's day, with a cool breeze blowing by, and there's not a cloud in the sky. A perfect day, some might say. One might think that nothing bad could possibly happen on a day like this. And yet I'm nervous. Deathly nervous. Any moment now, men in black robes could appear behind me, and kill me with a glance. 

"Pleasant day, isn't it?" says the kindly voice of an old man. 

I glance behind me. Oh, no. An elderly man with a long, white beard wearing gray robes. Shit, the Dark Elkandu could be here any minute. They might kill him if they see him talking to me! 

"No need to be scared, boy," he says. "I am Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. I'm not going to hurt you. Wait... Harry? No, it can't be." 

"I don't know who you think I am, sir, but you should get away from me," I tell him frantically. "There are... dark wizards after me, trying to kill me, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill you, too, if you got in their way." 

"Your concern for my well-being is admirable, but I assure you that I can handle myself," says Dumbledore. 

"You don't understand!" I say. "You might be able to take on Sedder the Shadow, but you've no hope against the Dark Knight Sardill!" 

Dumbledore blinks at me as if I've just said something very strange. Before he speaks again, he pulls out his wand and mutters, " _Muffliato._ " Then he asks, "Who are you, young man?" 

"I am Lexen Chelseer, the Stormseeker," I reply. 

Dumbledore stares into my eyes for several long moments before finally replying, "I see... So you are the Stormseeker." 

I blink at him. "Yes, I am the Stormseeker. What of it? That's just the title they gave me... They told me it would unambiguously identify me in prophecies and whatnot, but that's crap." 

"There was a prophecy regarding the Stormseeker made three years ago," Dumbledore says. 

"Oh, for..." I say, sighing and rolling my eyes. "Prophecies can't actually tell the future, because the future isn't set in stone! All they can do is say what _might_ happen, what _could_ happen, not what _will_ happen. I don't suppose you'll tell me what this prophecy said?" 

Dumbledore takes a deep breath. " _The Stormseeker approaches. Born of the blood of the dragon, born of a galaxy far, far away. He comes seeking the power to fight the shadow and the dark night. Deaths beyond number mark his path, but he bears the hope of a thousand worlds._ " 

I blink, and rub my eyes. "Well, that's... accurate enough, I suppose... but I don't know that it really says much of anything..." 

"I had at first believed that 'the shadow and the dark night' refered to evil and darkness in a generic way," Dumbledore says. "And that it was nighttime, rather than a knight person... But you say they are titles of dark wizards?" 

I nod. "They're very powerful, very dangerous. They... I was forced to watch them murder my family... And I came here, hoping to get away from them... They could show up any minute. I don't want you to get hurt, too. You aren't involved in this. You shouldn't--" 

"Relax, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "I am an old man, and I am not afraid to die for a noble cause, if need be, but I doubt that I will be dying today. Why don't we head over to the school to speak more in private? Hogwarts is heavily warded, and even powerful dark wizards would find it difficult to break in by force." 

I don't think it'll help, but there's no use arguing about it. I sigh, and give a nod of acquiescence. "Alright," I murmur reluctantly, turning to follow after him as he heads back into the village. 

We step inside a seedy-looking tavern called the Hog's Head, judging by the sign outside. Dumbledore says to the bartender, "Aberforth, do you mind if we use your Floo?" 

"Sure, go ahead, Albus," Aberforth replies. 

"Have you used the Floo before?" Dumbledore asks me. 

I shake my head. "What's a Floo?" 

"Take a pinch of this powder and drop it in the fire, and state the name of your destination," Dumbledore says, tossing a little powder into the fireplace to demonstrate. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" He vanishes into the green flames. 

I quickly follow after him, my mind too numb to do anything else. I tumble out of the fireplace on the far end, rolling end over end for a few moments before landing flat on my face. 

The headmaster's office at Hogwarts is a spacious room, luxuriously furnished, and containing a number of clearly magical items whose purpose I can't begin to guess at. The walls are covered in paintings that look alive, some of which I could swear are blinking at me. They make me feel a little uneasy, but I try to ignore them. 

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore says, offering me a bit of candy and gesturing to a chair. 

"Thanks," I murmur, absently taking the candy and popping it into my mouth, and taking a seat across from him. 

"You've had a rough time of it, from the sounds of things," Dumbledore says. "Try to relax. Why don't you start with telling me exactly where you're from? You have an American accent, but I don't think you're actually from the States." 

"I'm not," I reply honestly. "I'm an Elkandu. A dimension traveler. Normally, we Elkandu try to keep a low profile when we're on other worlds, to avoid letting on that we're from another universe, but these aren't normal circumstances. As I think you've already figured out from my outburst earlier." 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Would you like a Calming Draught?" 

I assume that's some sort of potion. I shake my head. "No, it's alright. I'll... I'll be fine. Really." Way to play the tough guy, Lexen. He's not going to be very convinced of it if I'm still shaking. 

"I don't think you're even managing to convince yourself of that," Dumbledore points out gently. 

"It's just... I don't know what's happening back home right now," I say. "Every last person I ever cared about could be dying horribly as we speak..." 

"I understand," Dumbledore says. He goes over to a cabinet off to the side and pulls out a vial filled with a light blue liquid, and passes it over to me. "Why don't you drink this?" 

I sigh softly and accept it with reluctant gratitude. "Alright," I murmur, uncorking the vial and swallowing the contents in a single gulp. It tastes slightly minty and cool, but I hardly notice the flavor going down. 

"Did you come to this universe simply to hide from them?" Dumbledore asks. 

I shake my head. "I wanted to learn. Learn all I could about magic. To become powerful enough to defeat them and protect those I care about." 

"Ah," Dumbledore says. "Yes, of course. I'm assuming you wished to attend Hogwarts, then." 

"Yeah," I say. "But I didn't realize there was tuition. I don't have any local currency, I'm afraid. I didn't really come with anything..." 

"Hmm, yes," Dumbledore says thoughtfully. "I may have a solution for that, provided you're willing. But you've had a rough day, and it can wait until tomorrow. Perhaps you should have some dinner, relax, and get some sleep first." 

"Alright," I murmur. I think the potion is having an effect upon me. At least I've stopped shaking. 

Dinner is brought in by a strange little creature with long ears. At this point, I'm taking everything about this world in stride, and don't even really think about it as I settle in to eat in silence. It's good food, but I have a lot on my mind at the moment, which I'm trying not to think about too hard. But between Dumbledore's potion and the fact that nobody has shown up to kill me yet, I'm starting to relax more. 

It's still early yet, but I go to sleep in the room Dumbledore directs me to. Despite my having gotten some sleep in the cave, I'm still pretty tired. I don't even know how long I managed to sleep at that point. But I gratefully lay down to rest. 

* * *

I wake with light falling upon my eyelids, and blink for a moment. There's morning light streaming in through the window. I climb out of bed and look out. 

It's morning. It's another day. I never though I'd be so grateful to see the dawn of a new day. 

Whatever might have happened yesterday, whatever might happen back home, there's hope. I can dare to hope. I can find a way. I can live a day without dying horribly. I can learn and become strong. 

I realize my face is wet. I'm crying? Tears of joy, perhaps. I'll take any joy I can get in these circumstances. 

I head out of the guest quarters and down to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore is already up and at his desk. 

"Ah, you're awake, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "Care to join me for breakfast?" 

"Yes, please," I say. "Er, just so long as it isn't pancakes." 

"No pancakes," Dumbledore says, nodding. "Have you ever had a full English breakfast, Lexen?" 

"No, sir," I say. "I'm not familiar with that term. What does it consist of?" 

"I'll let you see for yourself," Dumbledore says. 

The strange little person appears again, bringing a hearty heap of food. I start eating gratefully. There's bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, hash browns, mushrooms, baked beans, and hot buttered toast. I eat up every bite like a starving man, and wash it down with some tea. 

Once we finish eating, Dumbledore says to me, "So are you feeling any better this morning, Lexen?" 

I nod to him. "Much better, thank you. What was the possible solution that you suggested yesterday?" 

Dumbledore takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. "This will take a bit of explaining on my part, so I hope you're up for a bit of a story." 

"I'm listening," I say. 

"A decade ago, a powerful dark wizard calling himself Voldemort threatened this world," Dumbledore says. "He was so feared that few people dared to speak his name, instead calling him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. A prophecy was made about one that could defeat the Dark Lord. This prompted Voldemort to attempt to strike down a year old child. But something unexpected happened. When he tried to cast the Killing Curse upon the infant, the spell rebounded upon him and destroyed his physical body instead, leaving the child unharmed but for a scar on his forehead." 

"I don't see what this has to do with me," I say. 

"I'm getting to that part. Patience, my boy," Dumbledore says. "This boy, Harry Potter. His parents were killed in the attack that gave him that scar. I placed him in the care of his mother's sister. There were... measures in place that I believed would ensure his safety. But while they may have protected him from external threats, they did not help against internal ones. I would not outright accuse his family of being abusive or neglectful, but it stands that dear Harry Potter died at the age of five, from an apparent fall down the stairs." 

I frown a bit at that. What kind of people would hurt their own blood? "So what happened to this Voldemort you mentioned? You said his _body_ was destroyed..." 

"I do not believe that he is truly dead," Dumbledore says. "And now we are without Harry Potter as well. The future looks grim, to say the least." 

"I'll help, if I can," I offer. "I'll need a lot of training before I can match any Dark Lords, but I'm not afraid to try." 

I know little of Voldemort, but if he's anything like Sedder, cackling madly as he tortures children to death... I want to help any way I can. And if I can't take down Voldemort, what chance do I have against Sedder, never mind Sardill? 

"Are you certain about this?" Dumbledore says, raising an eyebrow. "You're an outsider, and you don't have to get involved in our problems." 

"I know," I say. "And I hardly expect to be ready anytime soon. But how could I just stand by and do nothing when other people's families, and children, may be in danger? If there's anything I can do, I should do it." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "Just so long as you understand what you're going up against. You see, I have an idea. Harry Potter would have been about your age, and looked a lot like you, before he died. Aside from the scar, of course. It's not perfect, but I believe it's close enough that you could pass for him." 

"You want me to... take Harry's place?" I say. 

"Effectively, yes," Dumbledore says, nodding to me. "We'll need to fake the scar, and there's some things that I'll have to do in order to have you magically and legally recognized as him, but I believe I can pull that off." 

"You want me to replace your Chosen One just because I look vaguely like him?" I say incredulously. "This plan is... in a word, insane. Doesn't anyone else know that he's dead? What about his family?" 

"No one outside of this room realizes that he's dead yet," Dumbledore says. "After he died, I had his relatives' memories modified so that they wouldn't even remember that he'd ever been there." 

"And how does nobody else know?" I say. "You've covered it up for this long?" 

"Harry was being kept at his aunt and uncle's home in secret," Dumbledore says. "The only ones who might have known he was there were Muggles, who wouldn't have realized his importance. Only a couple people in the wizarding community knew he was living there, and they don't know that he's dead." 

I sigh heavily. "This just strikes me as a terrible idea... I know little about this world. How would I ever convince anyone that I'm supposed to be Harry Potter?" 

"That's alright," Dumbledore says. "Harry would have been raised by Muggles. It's doubtful that he would have known anything about the magical community anyway." 

"I'm guessing that 'Muggles' are how you refer to non-magical people?" I say. "Alright, even considering that, I don't know anything about the Muggle parts of this world, either!" 

"Neither do many wizards," Dumbledore says. "And we can claim that you were raised in the States, and just aren't used to how things work in this country." 

I take a deep breath. I'm overreacting here. This is what Elkandu normally do on explorations. Blend in with the populace and avoid letting on that they're from another world. I should be able to do this. And I can learn, can't I? 

"Alright..." I say. "Alright. I can give it a shot. I can do this..." 

"Relax," Dumbledore says. "You aren't alone. I'll help you in any way I can. Just be sure about it before you agree, because once the preparations are made, you'll be Harry Potter for as long as you're on this world." 

"I understand," I say. "But it _is_ probably the best way to get me a place in this world." 

"It's hardly the only possibility, however," Dumbledore says. "You could always pose as a Muggle-born, for instance. That would not be questioned by anyone." 

"People will be expecting to see Harry sooner or later, won't they," I say flatly. 

"He would have been starting Hogwarts this autumn," Dumbledore says softly. 

"And if he doesn't, you'll have to give an explanation as to why," I say. "Another excuse, or coming clean." 

"This is true," Dumbledore says. 

"I imagine that you would rather not have to admit to the world that their Chosen One died on your watch," I say, looking at him, but he looks away. "Don't worry. I don't blame you for it. You couldn't have known what would happen. But others may not see it that way." 

"His mother sacrificed herself to save him," Dumbledore says distantly. "She used ancient blood magic to put arcane wards upon him. So long as he lived with her or a close blood relative of hers, he would be protected. But I never imagined that he might not be safe there..." 

"I understand," I say reassuringly. "I don't like the idea of lying about it and hiding it... but I can understand why you did it." 

Dumbledore means well, but he's not infallible. People can make mistakes. Things can happen that nobody could predict. I regret what happened to Harry Potter, but there's nothing I can do for him now. Now, I can only take on the role of the symbol that he's become. And I see no wrong in that. People didn't care about Harry Potter as a person. Only as the Chosen One, the symbol of the defeat of the Dark Lord. And that, I can be. 

"Let me be Harry Potter," I say quietly. "Let me be the symbol that they're looking for. And maybe, just maybe... I can bring them salvation when it's most needed." 

"Very well," Dumbledore replies, nodding gravely. "There's a few things that will need to be taken care of in order to complete the charade. First, the scar. I will need to give you a magical scar that will not heal easily. This may hurt a bit." 

"Go ahead," I say, bracing myself. 

Dumbledore pulls out his wand and points it at me, and utters an arcane word. Blinding pain shoots through my forehead like a white-hot knife, and I cry out involuntarily. I clench my teeth. Well, he did warn me. Dumbledore comes over to pull my hair out of the way and take a look at my throbbing forehead. 

"Excellent," Dumbledore says. "A good enough approximation of the correct shape. Are you alright, 'Harry'?" 

I nod. "I'm fine. It was quick enough. Have you a mirror?" 

Dumbledore points me over toward the bathroom, and I take a look at myself. There's a pale but striking scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on my forehead now. Definitely an interesting distinguishing feature. 

"There are some arrangements I must take care of now," Dumbledore says. "I would advise you not to leave this part of the castle for the time being." 

"Yes, sir," I say, glancing about. "Is there something you wouldn't mind me reading in the meantime?" 

"Ah, certainly," Dumbledore says. He goes over toward one of the bookshelves in the office. "This shelf contains copies of the current required course books. The lowest shelf has the books for first year. I'll ask you not to touch any of the books on the other shelves without permission." 

"Of course, sir," I say, nodding. I imagine they might be dangerous, and I wouldn't have the grounding in magical knowledge to understand them anyway. 

Dumbledore leaves by the Floo, and I pick out a book on magical theory and settle in to start reading. 

I didn't hear any word from Keolah, so she must either be dead, or in a position where she's unable to get in touch with me. Either way, she's out of my reach. Hmm, the Zarnith didn't appear beside my bed this morning, either. Does that mean that Hawthorne is still alive? No, it would have passed to my grandmother, Keliole or my mother, Anara, before me. And Mom was far away on a remote world somewhere. 

I'm very much alone on this world, but at least I have Dumbledore.


	2. Diagon Alley

Dumbledore makes all the appropriate arrangements. He requires a bit of my blood for one part of it, so I let him collect a bit in a little vial. All of this, just to make sure that I'm properly recognized as Harry Potter. 

"The Potter vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank will recognize you as its legitimate heir now," Dumbledore says. "I believe there is sufficient wealth within to cover any expenses you might have." 

We work out our story. Rather than being left with the Dursley family, I, Harry Potter, was sent to the United States of America to be raised in secret. I was adopted by the Chelseer family, and called Lexen Chelseer, in order to conceal my true identity. This will help cover all our bases just in case I make a slip up or someone from my home universe shows up and calls me the wrong name. 

"You're also going to need to learn Occlumency," Dumbledore says. "A form of magic used to shield your mind against those who would intrude upon your secrets." 

I nod. "Are people who can read minds common?" 

"No," Dumbledore says. "Legilimens are rare, but you never know when you might run across one. Voldemort, however, is a skilled Legilimens himself." 

"I see," I say. "So definitely an important thing to learn. Where do I start?" 

"It may be difficult for one so young to master Occlumency," Dumbledore says. "For starters, if you think someone might try to read your mind, avoid eye contact. This will at least make it more difficult for them to use Legilimency on you." He frowns thoughtfully for a moment. "But if you cannot learn this in two months, we will need to bring another into our little conspiracy." 

"I'll do my best," I say. 

"You need to learn how to control your thoughts and emotions," Dumbledore says. "Growing angry or nervous at the wrong moment will completely give away that you're hiding something, even to someone who isn't a skilled Legilimens." 

I nod, listening to Dumbledore as he continues on about what I need to learn. This will be difficult for me, to be sure, but I'm determined to learn it, even if it takes me a lifetime. After all, it will be a _very_ good skill to have if I'm going to be exploring the multiverse and time traveling. Once I get it down, even if it takes me years to do so, I'll be set for that, I think. 

The month of July passes, and I remain sequestered in the Headmaster's guest chambers for the duration. I'm given a crash course on what I'll need to know about this world to pass believably, in addition to my Occlumency lessons. At least I've some spare time to do some reading of my own. I've taken to reading the _Daily Prophet_ to get a feel for the culture, as well. 

Then comes the end of the month. July 31st, Harry's birthday. My birthday, I should say. I should get used to thinking of myself as Harry. I don't want to inadvertently give anything away. 

"Harry, I'm sending Hagrid with you to Diagon Alley," Dumbledore says. "You'll be able to pick up your school supplies and anything else you may need there." 

This will be the first time I've appeared in public since I arrived. Since I became Harry Potter. I have to admit that I'm a little nervous about it. What if I say something stupid? What if I slip up? No, there's no use to this line of thought. Be confident. Be Harry. What would Harry do? No, I don't know what Harry would do. I only know what I would do. It's easier to be Harry if I let Harry just be a facet of myself. 

"Who is Hagrid?" I ask. 

"He's the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore says. "He's a good man, and means well, but he's a heavily misjudged one. He'll look after you while you're away." 

"Alright," I say. 

Shortly, a veritable giant of a man comes into Dumbledore's office. "Well, I'll be. This is little Harry, I take it? I haven't seen you since you were a baby!" 

"Hello," I say cordially. "You must be Hagrid, I assume?" 

"That I am," Hagrid says. "And what's this I hear about you being taken across the pond to be raised?" 

"I apologize for the deception, Hagrid," Dumbledore says smoothly. "But it was necessary, you see." 

"Ah, don't worry about it, Professor," Hagrid says. "I understand. If I'd known where he was, the wrong person might've found out about it. So, Harry, you ready to go shopping now?" 

The way he says it, he makes it sound like a grand adventure. "Yes, sir." 

We head over to the fireplace and take the Floo to someplace called the Leaky Cauldron. I go tumbling out of the fireplace on the far end. I'm still not used to the Floo. I gather myself and look around a bit. This place appears to be a tavern, filled with various patrons, many of them wearing robes. 

"Not much for Floo travel, are you?" Hagrid says. 

"I haven't done it much before," I admit. 

The other wizards around the tavern notice me, and spot the scar on my forehead. "Is that Harry Potter?" 

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter," I tell them. 

They gather up to take turns shaking my hand and expressing their gratitude toward me. Some of them introduce themselves. 

"I'm P-P-Professor Quirrell," stutters a man in a turban. "I'll be your D-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Of course, you wouldn't really need it, would you P-P-Potter?" 

It takes a bit to extricate myself from the crowd. Thankfully, Hagrid rescues me, saying, "We must be going. Young Harry's got a lot of school supplies to collect still." 

The crowd disperses a bit and lets me leave. Hagrid leads me back behind the tavern to a brick wall, and shows me what bricks to tap to open the way to Diagon Alley. 

Diagon Alley reminds me a bit of Torn Elkandu. Not for the part about being covered in glowing runes and having a weird swirling purple sky, but for the fact that it's filled to the brim with magical things, and mages milling about. Well, wizards and witches, as they call them here. Like Torn Elkandu, there are a number of shops offering a variety of relics, books, ingredients, and familiars. 

I notice one side alley heading off from the main street that looks a little different from the rest. Darker, dingier, more run down. "What's down that way, Hagrid?" 

"That's Knockturn Alley," Hagrid replies. "Not a good place for a youngun like you to be running off. Darker and seedier types gather around there, and I don't know that all the stuff they sell is entirely legal, either." 

"I see," I reply. Sounds like someplace that would be interesting to check out, given the opportunity. 

"Our first stop is Gringotts," Hagrid says. "Got to get you some money in your pockets so you can buy what you'll need. You got your vault key with you, and your list of supplies? Sorry, should've asked this before we left." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I've got them." 

Hagrid leads me over to a large building and we step inside. This must be the bank, and it appears to be run by goblins. Well, that's different. I haven't seen many goblins before, even back at home. The ones on Lezaria are usually slaves to the trolls. 

One of the goblins leads the two of us over toward a cart, and takes us on a rapid, twisting ride down toward the vaults. Ugh, the lower gravity is disorienting enough without adding high motion and sudden turns into it. 

We come to the Potter vault, and I open it up. It's full primarily of many neat stacks of gold coins. Dumbledore was right when he said that I shouldn't have to worry for currency. Although I have to wonder that giving access to this wealth to a random child from another universe was preferable to passing it along to one of the Potters' actual relatives. Maybe their relatives really are just that bad. 

I gather up a bag full of coins, and we continue on. We make another stop at a different vault, in which Hagrid picks up a small package and tucks it away in a pocket. 

"Just a little errand Dumbledore wanted me to take care of," Hagrid tells me quietly. 

The goblin takes us back up to the surface again, and we leave the bank. Hagrid looks just about as woozy as I feel after that ride. I'm kind of glad for the extra weight of the coins. I feel like I'm about to go flying off the world half the time as it is, especially after a ride like that. 

"Those goblin carts always do a number on my head," Hagrid says. "Why don't you go over and get fitted for your new robes? I'm going to head back to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit for a little pick-me-up, if you know what I mean." 

"Sure thing," I say. "Take your time, I'll be fine." 

Once Hagrid has his back turned, I head straight for the entrance to Knockturn Alley. The robes can wait. I want to take the chance to see what might be down this way. 

The place definitely has a different sort of feel to it. Even in the middle of a bright summer day, it seems shadowy and dim here. Probably because the buildings are closer together and painted in darker colors, I would imagine. I decide to poke in one of the shops and see if they have anything interesting for sale. Perhaps books that might teach things that aren't strictly taught at school, or magic items that might help me out in some way. 

Borgin and Burke's, this shop is called, apparently. I step inside and take a look around. The place is a little creepy, to say the least, in part because it's pretty dark in here. Why do these sorts of places feel the need to do their business in such improper lighting, anyway? Is the atmosphere really worth the trouble of having everything hard to see? 

Anyway, despite the poor visibility, I can tell that there's strange masks on the walls with evil expressions, and other items along the shelves that might be made of human bodyparts, claws, fangs, or are just designed to look sinister. 

"Are you lost, kid?" says the shopkeeper. "Or just looking to get a leg up?" 

"Oh, no, I'm not lost, I came in here intentionally," I reply, smirking at him. 

"Well, I'm Borgin, and I run this shop. Let me know if you're looking for anything in particular," he says. "We've got quite the selection of interesting artifacts." 

My eye is drawn to an interesting little dagger labeled 'Frozen Viper'. The sign claims that it's capable of slaying dragons. I'd think that would be hard to do, for a dagger that's not even a foot long, never mind that it almost looks like it's made of ice. 

I reach over to pick it up to examine it more closely. The hilt is cold to the touch. Freezing cold. In fact, ice is forming down my arm. "What in the Abyss?" I mutter. I try to drop the dagger, but my hand is frozen and won't respond. 

"Ah, fuck," Borgin says. "That's not supposed to happen." 

"Get it off of me!" I scream. 

Borgin pulls out a wand and casts some spells at me, managing to slow the spread of the ice, but not stop it. "You're obviously not a dragon! Why is it doing this?" Borgin mutters. "A bloody useless weapon if it killed the one wielding it." 

Maybe I should have listened to Hagrid and stayed away from Knockturn Alley after all. Or at least, avoided touching anything. Borgin's efforts are for naught, and the ice soon reaches my heart. I don't last long after that. 

* * *

I wake in the guest room in the Headmaster's Tower at Hogwarts. I shiver involuntarily. Well, it's good to know that I'm still coming back from the dead, I suppose. And that I came back here rather than having to start at the beginning again. Ugh, but I'm going to have to ride that cart again. Oh well. It beats being dead. 

I go through the morning routine again, and Hagrid takes me back to Diagon Alley once more. This time, when he suggests that I go for my robes, I listen to him rather than wandering off and getting myself killed by strange magical artifacts that I don't understand. 

In the tailor shop, there's already another boy getting fitted, a blond boy looking to be around my age. 

"I'll be with you in a moment, dear," says the seamstress. "Once I finish up taking young Mr. Malfoy's measurements." 

"Hello," Malfoy says to me. "Getting ready for Hogwarts as well?" 

"Yeah," I reply. He doesn't seem to have recognized me right off the bat. I don't bother introducing myself for fear of having to shake the hands of another swarm. Bad enough I had to go through that twice as it is. 

"My father's buying my books for me, and my mother's up the street looking at wands," Malfoy drawls. "I should drag them off to look at brooms, next. I don't see why they don't let first years have their own brooms. I think I'll have my father buy one and I'll smuggle it in anyway somehow. Have you got your own broom?" 

"No," I reply. "I've never ridden one before. It doesn't really sound very pleasant." 

"Really?" Malfoy says. "Brooms are great, though! I'd like to play Quidditch. I'd better get picked for the house team. Do you know what house you'll be in yet?" 

"No," I say. "I was raised in America. I don't really know much about Hogwarts." 

"Oh, I see," Malfoy says. "Well, there's four Houses. Slytherin's the best of them, of course. That's where you go if you're pureblooded, clever, and ambitious. Gryffindor's where you go if you've got more courage than common sense. Ravenclaw's for the ones who study too much. And Hufflepuff's for the duffers who don't fit anywhere else." I get the impression that Malfoy's descriptions are just a little biased. 

"I think if I wound up in Hufflepuff, I'd commit suicide from the shame, just from the name," I comment dryly. "I take it you're hoping for Slytherin?" 

"Yeah, all my family's been in Slytherin," Malfoy says. "What's your family like?" 

"Dead," I reply flatly. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Malfoy says. "But they were our kind, weren't they?" 

"Well, I'm pretty sure none of them were goblins or anything," I say with a shrug. 

"Merlin, you're dense," Malfoy says. "I mean, they weren't Muggles, right?" 

"Certainly not," I reply. 

"I don't think they should let that other sort in, do you?" Malfoy says. "They're just not the same. They grow up not knowing anything about magic or our ways. I think they should just keep it to the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?" 

"That's it for you, Mr. Malfoy," says the seamstress. "Sorry for the wait, young man. It's your turn." 

"That's alright," I say, stepping on the stool that Malfoy had just occupied. "And my name is Potter." 

She almost sticks me with a pin, and her eyes widen when she finally notices my scar. "Harry Potter? In my shop? Oh my!" 

"Really?" Malfoy says, looking me over and sizing me up for the first time. "My father said you were about my age, but I didn't think we'd run into each other before school. Oh, I didn't properly introduce myself, either. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." 

"You'll forgive me for not shaking your hand while pinned up like this," I reply. 

"So you were sent off to be raised in America?" Draco says. "Why?" 

"They wanted to keep me safe and hidden, I guess," I say. 

"How long have you been back in Britain?" Draco asks. 

"About a month," I reply. "It's pretty strange, compared to what I'm used to." 

"You must not have many friends in this country yet," Draco says. "I can help you out there. I can tell you everything you need to know, show you around, point out which wizarding families are better than others." 

"I certainly wouldn't mind a friend," I say, smiling at him. "But I'll prefer to make my own judgments." 

"You wouldn't want to go making friends with the wrong sort, would you?" Draco says. 

"That would depend," I say. "What would you consider to be the wrong sort?" 

"You know," Draco says, lowering his voice. "Mudbloods." 

"I'll not have that sort of language in my shop, Mr. Malfoy," says the seamstress. 

"Fine, Muggle-borns, then," Draco says. "Don't tell me you're a Muggle-lover, are you, Potter?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. 

"Good," Draco says. "Muggle-borns will never be proper wizards, anyway." 

Does he mean wizards who have Muggles for parents? Dumbledore mentioned the term before, but didn't really explain it. "I don't see how it's possible for a wizard to have Muggles for parents," I comment. 

"Yeah, they're not real wizards, of course," Draco says. 

"I mean, magic is hereditary," I say. "How would it even be possible to do magic if you don't have any magic in your blood?" 

"Oh," Draco says. "Well, I guess they're just like the opposite of Squibs. You know, children with magical parents, but they don't have magic themselves." 

"I don't see how _that_ is possible, either," I say. "They might not have _much_ magic, but they've got to have _some_." 

"Alright, Mr. Potter, you're done now," the seamstress says, shooing us along. 

Draco heads out of the shop with me, continuing our conversation. "Well, Squibs do have _some_ magic, I suppose. They can recognize magical things that a wizard could. They can't actually cast any spells, though." 

"So they have latent magic, in other words," I say. "So how do wizard families normally treat Squibs that are born?" 

"Oh, they're usually disowned and sent to live in the Muggle world," Draco replies. 

"Well, there you go," I say. 

"What?" 

"They disown people with latent magic, and then complain when magical children get born to apparent Muggles?" I say. 

"Oh," Draco says, eyes widening. "Oh... Oh!" 

Back home, that sort of situation would never have happened. Sure, we have our Squibs too. We just call them mibis, and still consider them to be mages. Some of them can even learn a little magic. Others don't have much apparent magic due to having rare or obscure talents, or ones that aren't particularly useful in general. I've heard of mages whose only real power is to conjure smoke, or to turn things pink. 

"There you are, Harry," Hagrid says, approaching us from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. "You got your robes squared away? Who's your new friend?" 

"Hagrid, this is Draco Malfoy," I say. 

"Malfoy?" Hagrid says, frowning deeply. He lowers his voice and turns to speak to me. "Harry, you might not realize this, but the Malfoys are an old family of dark wizards. You should be careful around them." 

"I'm right here, you know," Draco says, smirking. 

"What, you mean to tell me that none of my family ever used dark magic?" I say. "All things considered, I wouldn't be surprised if he's my cousin, anyway." 

"Second cousin once removed, on my mother's side," Draco replies. 

"Well, yeah, all the old pureblood families are related..." Hagrid says. "But that's not the point! Ain't no wizard ever went bad who wasn't in Slytherin." 

"And that I find hard to believe," I say. "Look, Hagrid. I appreciate your attempts to warn me, but I'll prefer to make my own judgments, rather than blindly listening to what anyone says one way or another. I told Draco the same thing." 

"I kind of thought you were just making excuses for being a Muggle-lover," Draco comments. 

"I meant it, you know," I say pointedly. 

Hagrid sighs heavily. "Harry, you're young still. There's a lot you don't know about the world. I'd hate for you to get the wrong impression about things." 

"It seems to me like both of you don't want me to get the 'wrong impression' about things," I say. "I'll be the first to admit that I have a lot to learn. But I'll prefer to learn by keeping my eyes open, and not clenching them shut." 

"But the Malfoys were big supporters of You-Know-Who in the last war!" Hagrid says. 

"Perhaps so," I say. "But I rather doubt that _Draco_ had any particular strong political aspirations when he was a year old. _Draco_ has done nothing to me yet. If he does in the future, I can hate him then. There's enough hate to go around in the world without needlessly adding to it, though." 

"Fine," Hagrid says with a sigh. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you if this comes back around to bite you! Let's just get the rest of your shopping done, Harry." 

I wave to Draco and say, "I'll see you at school, Draco." 

Draco waves back, and we part ways. I follow Hagrid to go buy my school supplies. A cauldron, vials, a telescope, scales. Hagrid has to talk me out of buying a self-stirring cauldron. 

I spend some extra time browsing around the bookshop after picking up my school books, to see if there's anything else interesting that I might want to pick up. I could purchase their entire inventory and feel like I've only just begun, however. I still haven't gotten through all of my course books yet, after all, so I only grab a couple extras: _Hogwarts, a History_ and _Curses and Counter-Curses_. 

Lastly, there's the matter of a wand. Much as I might disdain this universe's reliance on foci like this, I'm going to need it if I want to figure out how their brand of magic ticks. We head down the street to a building labeled "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." I wonder how long ago that is. 

"I'll meet you down at the ice cream parlor once you've got your wand," Hagrid says. 

"Alright," I say, and head inside. 

The place is deceptively tiny, but is packed full of shelves piled high with many, many narrow little boxes, no doubt each of them containing a wand. An old man approaches me, looking me over with silver eyes that remind me of Keolah. Oh, I hope he isn't a Seeker. He'd find out in an instant that I'm not who I appear to be. No, I must stay calm. Remember Dumbledore's Occlumency lessons. Nervousness will give away that you have something to hide. 

"Good afternoon," says the old man. "I am Ollivander. Welcome to my shop. And who might you be?" 

"I'm Harry Potter," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. 

"Are you, now?" Ollivander says, peering at me intently, and then closely examining my scar. "Are you entirely certain of that?" 

"Um..." I say hesitantly. 

"I remember every wand I've ever sold," Ollivander says. "I know the wand I sold to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. A great wand, destined for great things. Terrible things, but great." He points to my forehead. "This scar... was not made with that wand." 

"Maybe he used a different wand?" I offer nervously. 

"I would say that you're the spitting image of James Potter, with Lily's eyes," Ollivander says. "But there's something that feels off about you. Who are you?" 

Shit. He knows. He knows I'm not Harry Potter. "I was Lexen Chelseer, but I'm being Harry Potter now," I say quietly. 

Ollivander gazes at me for several long moments. Is he a Legilimens? Or is he reading something else entirely? "And what's become of the real Harry Potter?" 

"He... I'm sorry to say that he died," I stammer. "He fell... he fell down a staircase when he was five." 

"And why, praytell, are you being Harry Potter, then?" Ollivander asks. 

"It was Dumbledore's idea," I mutter. "To give the people their hope and symbol..." 

"I see," Ollivander says. "Very well. This is not my business. This is between you and Dumbledore. Regardless of who you are or who you appear to be, you are a young wizard about to attend Hogwarts, and so you're here to get a wand." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "Thank you, sir." 

"Which is your wand arm, child?" Ollivander asks. 

"I'm left-handed, sir," I say. 

"Very well. Let's try this one, shall we?" Ollivander says, placing a wand box in front of me. "Hawthorn and unicorn hair, eight inches. Pick it up and give it a little swish. We'll see which wand will choose you." 

I take the wand and try it out. A box goes flying from a shelf and almost hits me in the head. Ollivander snatches it away, shaking his head, and gives me another wand to try. We try out wand after wand, doing more and more damage to the shop around us. 

"Isn't there a better way to do this?" I say. "If you could tell which wand made my scar, couldn't you tell which wand would be right for me?" 

"It is not so simple as that," Ollivander says. "Here, try this one. Willow and phoenix feather, twelve inches." 

No, not that one either, apparently. Finally, one of the wands I pick up practically _hums_ as I touch it, and emits a shower of blue sparks. Holding it in my hand, something seems like it just clicked in place, and it feels _right_ to me. 

"Aha, there we go," Ollivander says. "Pine and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, firm but flexible. An excellent match for you, it seems. This wand will be good for creative uses of magic. And it seems you've got a long life ahead of you. I've never known an owner of a pine wand to die young." 

That might be true, but perhaps not in the way he expects. 

"That'll be nine galleons," Ollivander adds. 

I count out the coins from my bag and pass them over to him, and head out of the shop, waving around my new wand experimentally a bit more. It feels like an extension of my body and soul. I had been wondering why these people use wands before, but now I have to wonder why the Elkandu _don't_. 

I head to the ice cream parlor to meet up with Hagrid. I'm glad he decided to wait outside. I'm unsure enough that Ollivander will keep my identity a secret. But while I trust Hagrid well enough, he doesn't strike me as the type that's very good at keeping things quiet. 

"Ah, there you are, Harry," Hagrid says. "What's your favorite flavor?" 

"I don't know," I say. "How about I try three different ones?" 

Hagrid laughs. "Sounds good to me. So you got your wand, huh? What kind did you get?" 

"Pine and dragon heartstring," I reply. 

I eat up an ice cream cone laden with scoops chocolate, mint, and cherry. I do wonder if Ollivander's going to say anything to anyone, never mind how he knew, or what measures might be taken to prevent that sort of thing. 

"Oh, Harry, before I forget, I was going to get you a birthday present!" Hagrid says. 

"Ah, you don't have to get me anything, Hagrid," I say. "We just met, after all." 

"Nonsense!" Hagrid says. "We met when you were a baby, after all! I know, how about I buy you your pet?" 

"Well, alright," I say. "What kind?" 

"How about an owl?" Hagrid says. "They're right useful, carry your mail and everything. We can head over to Eeylops Owl Emporium and you can pick out one you like." 

We finish up our ice cream and head down there. This place is full of owls of all kinds. I don't know the names of the different sorts of owls, but there's brown ones, darker brown ones, lighter brown ones, slightly mottled ones, gray ones, white ones, almost black ones... 

I decide on a large gray owl, and Hagrid goes over to pay for it. I feel a little bad about Hagrid paying with his own money, when I have access to a lot of money, and I'm not even who Hagrid thinks I am. But I shake it off. No use in thoughts like this. I'm Harry Potter now. I need to remember that. 

"Hmm, what shall I call you?" I say, thoughtfully stroking my new pet. "I could call you something terribly cliched like Ghost or something." 

The owl twists its head around and makes a sound like a protest at that suggestion, and I have to laugh. 

"Alright, not that," I say. "How about... Solomon?" 

The owl sounds much more approving over this one, practically cooing. 

"Okay then, Solomon it is," I say.


	3. Growing Conspiracy

"Professor, Mr. Ollivander knew I wasn't who I claimed to be," I tell Dumbledore. 

"Ah," Dumbledore replies. "I should have expected this. Well, no matter. I would not worry overly much about it. Ollivander is very focused upon his work, and pays little heed to what his wands do once they leave his shop." 

I nod. "I see. That's reassuring." 

"However," Dumbledore says. "I've been observing your progress with Occlumency. I do not believe your skill with it will be sufficient by the time September arrives. So I will be bringing another into our little conspiracy." 

"Who is it?" I ask. 

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore says. "He's the Potions teacher here at Hogwarts. He's also a skilled Legilimens and Occlumens. I'll ask him to continue to tutor you throughout the year." 

"Alright," I say, nodding. "When do I get to meet him?" 

"He should be stopping by tomorrow," Dumbledore says. "I will need to explain the situation to him. Delicately." He makes a face. 

"You didn't want to have to do this, did you," I say gently. 

"Go get some rest, my boy," Dumbledore says, avoiding the question. "You've had a busy day." 

* * *

Professor Snape is a black-haired man with a hawk-like nose. When he seems me in the Headmaster's office, he looks at me in such a way that I can practically feel my skin crawling. That's uncomfortable. I have to look away. 

"Headmaster, is... this what you wished to speak with me regarding?" Snape says to Dumbledore. 

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore says. "Please, have a seat. This will probably take a while." 

"Very well," Snape says, sitting down across from him. "And I'll assume that there's some reason why young Mr. Potter is present as well?" 

"This matter directly concerns him," Dumbledore says. "However, this is not, in fact, Harry Potter. Let me explain." 

"I thought there was something strange about him..." Snape says thoughtfully. "Do go on." 

"You see... Harry Potter was sent to live with Petunia and Vernon Dursley after his parents were killed," Dumbledore says. "However, when he was five years old... there was an accident. He fell down the stairs. Broke his neck and died instantly..." 

"Accident, you say," Snape says, giving a low growl. "Are you certain that there was no foul play involved there?" 

"I cannot be certain," Dumbledore says. "And they were Obliviated shortly afterward to make them forget that Harry ever lived with them." 

"So, how many people know about Potter's death, then?" Snape asks. 

"They're all here in this room," Dumbledore says. "Mr. Ollivander may realize it as well." 

"You've covered this up very well," Snape says. "And now you have brought in an imposter to take his place? What are you playing at, Dumbledore?" 

Dumbledore pauses for a few moments before responding, "It's for the greater good, I believe. The people will have their symbol to rally around, and when Voldemort returns, we may be ready." 

"He's not even the one spoken of in the prophecy," Snape points out. 

"No, he is not," Dumbledore says. "Not that prophecy. There was another one, however." 

"What?" Snape says. "You never told me about that." 

"The only ones who know about _this_ particular prophecy are myself, the boy here, Gabriel Truman, and Nymphadora Tonks," Dumbledore says dryly. 

"Why do they know about it?" Snape asks. 

"They were serving detention with Professor Trelawny when she spoke it," Dumbledore says. 

"Fine, let's hear it." 

" _The Stormseeker approaches. Born of the blood of the dragon, born of a galaxy far, far away. He comes seeking the power to fight the shadow and the dark night. Deaths beyond number mark his path, but he bears the hope of a thousand worlds._ " 

Snape stares at him in silence for a long moment when he's done speaking. "And this, I presume, is this Stormseeker, then?" 

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says. 

"And you think _he_ has a chance of defeating the Dark Lord?" Snape says. 

"Indeed I do," Dumbledore says. 

"You have an awful lot of confidence in an eleven year old boy," Snape says. 

"Technically, I'm still ten," I say quietly. 

"You aren't helping your case, 'Stormseeker'," Snape comments. 

"I never claimed I'd be ready for it overnight," I say. "But if anyone can do it, I can. And I will not give up until Voldemort is gone for good, I swear it." 

"What makes you think _you_ would be capable of doing what any number of skilled adult wizards cannot?" Snape asks. 

I take a deep breath. I hadn't explicitly explained this to Dumbledore, but I'm pretty sure he figured it out from looking at my mind. Either way, he should know. I've got to trust him. And if he trusts Snape with this, I've got to trust Snape as well. 

"I'm immortal," I say. 

"What?" Snape says. Whatever he might have expected, that was not it. 

"He has some... unique circumstances," Dumbledore says. 

I nod in agreement. "You see, whenever I die, I wake up again on the morning of the day that I died. With full memory of what happened that day." 

"What?" Snape says. "That's preposterous. I've never heard of such an ability before." 

"Neither had I," Dumbledore says. "But look through his mind for yourself. Even the people in his own universe hadn't seen this sort of ability before." 

"Fine," Snape says, staring at me. I meet him in the eye and don't bother with my rudimentary Occlumency abilities, allowing him to see everything that happened to me on the day before coming here. He frowns deeply and his brow furrows as he delves deeply into my thoughts. "That's... there's no way a ten-year-old could have faked these memories. Nor that someone would go to the trouble of crafting memory of an entire other universe when there are much more believable lies." 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. 

"I already died once while in this universe, too," I point out. "And I learned my lesson from that foolishness as well." 

Snape frowns again. "You ran off to Knockturn Alley the first chance you got and grabbed a random artifact? You're lucky you _do_ have this ability." 

"Yeah, I know," I say. "To be fair, Borgin was surprised at what happened too. The dagger wasn't supposed to be cursed or anything." 

"What happened?" Dumbledore says, looking at me as well. "Ah. Ah, I see. A dragonslaying dagger named Frozen Viper? I believe I have heard of that. I have no idea how Borgin got his hands on it. No, it definitely should not have done that. It's only dangerous to dragons." 

"Didn't that prophecy about him mention something about dragons?" Snape says. 

"There's a legend that my family is descended from dragons," I say. "But it's just a legend. The alternative would be... awfully squicky." 

"All the same, I'd like to examine a bit of your blood," Snape says. 

"Alright," I say. 

Dumbledore provides a vial, and I prick my thumb again to allow a little bit of blood to run into the container. "That'll be enough, I think. _Episkey._ " With a wave of his wand, the small cut closes up again. 

Snape takes the vial from him and examines it closely, analyzing it, smelling it, tasting it. "If I hadn't just seen this run out of a boy's thumb, I'd think someone was trying to trick me. This is dragon blood." 

"What?" I say. 

"I didn't really think to examine it before," Dumbledore says, taking the vial back and examining the blood himself to confirm Snape's words. "I didn't think the prophecy meant it that literally. You're right, this _is_ dragon blood..." 

"I still think this is a terrible idea, mind you," Snape says. "But I will concede that the boy's unique circumstances will give him an advantage. If nothing else, he can use his foreknowledge to warn a more capable wizard of what's to come." 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. 

"I still do not agree with covering up Potter's death and putting a substitute in his place, however," Snape says, folding his arms across his chest. "But I will go along with this fool scheme on one condition." He looks to me pointedly. "I want a steady supply of dragon blood." 

"Okay," I say. 

"Lexen?" Dumbledore says. 

"What?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "It seems a small enough price to pay. I really don't mind." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "Dragon blood can be a very useful oven cleaner." 

"I still cannot believe that you would use dragon blood as an _oven cleaner_ ," Snape says. "Such a waste." 

"Also, Severus," Dumbledore says. "Would you be willing to tutor young Lexen here in Occlumency, as well?" 

"I suppose it would be necessary for him to keep a secret like this," Snape says reluctantly. "But he had better not be a dunderhead." 

"I'll try not to disappoint you, sir," I say. 

"However, it would no doubt prove suspicious to the other students if you were being given private lessons," Snape says. "We will need to call it detention, instead." 

"Alright," I say. 

* * *

Professor Snape takes over my Occlumency lessons from then on, and I see Dumbledore less and less, despite still staying in the Headmaster's guest quarters. I suppose he has a lot of things to do, and doesn't have time to personally hold my hand all the time. 

"I suppose I should not have expected much from a child," Snape mutters. 

"Have I done something wrong, sir?" I ask. 

"No," Snape replies. "You are making progress. Slowly. Very slowly. You're still a very long way away from being able to control your thoughts and emotions." 

"I will keep at it, sir," I say. "I've been doing the exercises you told me to do every day." 

Snape pulls out a potion from his desk and passes it over to me. "Here, drink this." 

I take it from him and drink it down. "What is it?" 

"You ask what it is _after_ drinking it?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"Well, you said to drink it," I say, shrugging. "I trust you, I was just curious." 

"It's a potion to increase your blood production," Snape says. "Now, give me your arm." 

"Alright," I say, lifting my arm and pulling back the sleeve. 

Snape pricks my skin and fills up another bottle with blood, then mutters, " _Episkey._ " 

I feel a little light-headed, staring at the now-full bottle. That much blood came out of me? Well, I hope he's happy about it, at any rate. 

"Your compensation for my time," Snape says, setting it aside on a nearby shelf. "Keep up your exercises. Perhaps you will accomplish something with them in few lifetimes." 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

* * *

"Headmaster, I must object to this situation," says the elderly witch with glasses who had come to see Dumbledore. 

"Minerva?" Dumbledore says. "Is there a problem?" 

Ah. This must be Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. I've looked over the staff list, but I haven't actually met most of these people yet. 

"It's bad enough that you led me to believe that we were to leave the boy with his Muggle aunt and uncle," McGonagall says. "And then actually sending him off to the States instead. But it is entirely inappropriate for you to be keeping a young boy in your quarters like this!" 

"Minerva--" Dumbledore begins. 

"No, listen to me," McGonagall interrupts. "It's bad enough that you felt the need to lie to me and did not trust me with his true whereabouts." 

"Very few people actually knew the truth," Dumbledore says. "I had to ensure that no one would be able to discern his location. They could have gotten that knowledge from you against your will." 

"You said that it was the best place for him," McGonagall says. "You went to a good deal of trouble convincing me of that, against my reservations! You said he would be protected there." 

"Yes, well, I apologize for the deception, but it was necessary..." Dumbledore says. 

"And now you're keeping an eleven-year-old boy in your room!" McGonagall says. "Do you have any idea how this looks?" 

I stare at her, listening to the conversation with a puzzled frown. Well, it's not like it's exactly eavesdropping when they're yelling about it in front of me, forgetting that I'm even there. 

"Minerva, the only ones who even know that he is here are Hogwarts staff members," Dumbledore tries to assure her. 

"Still, for the sake of appearances, I must ask that he be moved somewhere else," McGonagall says. "I don't see why he needs to stay at the castle during the summer at all, but if he absolutely must stay here for the time being, I insist that he be placed in one of the dormitories instead. The current situation is simply unacceptable!" 

"Very well," Dumbledore says graciously. "I will see about making suitable arrangements. Harry, please go collect your belongings." 

"Yes, sir," I say, taking that as clear a dismissal as any. 

I head up to the room I'm apparently being evicted from and start gathering up my things. I don't really have much beyond my school supplies, but I hadn't really expected to be going anywhere until September, so they're scattered about the room. 

After several minutes, Professor McGonagall comes into the room. "Are you ready to go, Mr. Potter? I'm going to take you to the Gryffindor dormitory." 

"Couldn't I go to the Slytherin dormitory instead?" I ask. 

She looks at me in surprise. "Why would you want to go there?" 

"Professor Snape has been very nice to me," I say sheepishly. "In his own way, I suppose. He has... kind of taken me under his wing as though I were his own son..." 

McGonagall's expression softens a bit. "I... must admit that I did not expect that of him. But perhaps I should not be all that surprised. Although he was antagonistic toward your father, he and your mother were good friends for a while." 

"He hasn't mentioned my parents much," I say quietly. 

"Is your trunk packed?" McGonagall says. "I'll have it brought down once you're settled in. Come, let us go see Professor Snape." 

"Yes, ma'am," I say, going to follow after her as she turns to leave the room. 

I follow her out of the Headmaster's office and down to the dungeons. Really, I'd suggested this primarily for the convenience of continuing Snape's Occlumency lessons without McGonagall asking anymore undue questions. I do hope that Snape will back me up and go along with it, however. 

We arrive at Professor Snape's office. "Severus," McGonagall says. "Do you mind if Mr. Potter here stays in your dormitory for the next month?" 

"Was there a problem with his previous arrangements?" Snape asks, raising an eyebrow and looking up from the cauldron he was brewing at. Unless I miss my guess, it looks like he's doing something with my blood. I wonder what dragon blood is actually used for, besides cleaning ovens? 

"They were completely inappropriate," McGonagall says in a huff. 

"As you say," Snape says, looking a little exasperated. "Fine, put him in the Slytherin dormitory." He returns his attention to the cauldron, carefully stirring it a bit. Clearly, he would rather be allowed to get back to what he was doing than stand here and argue about it. 

McGonagall leaves, and I follow her out of the office. She directs me toward a hidden part of the dungeon. I have to wonder why it has to be hidden, but I keep my mouth shut. The Slytherin common room is large and luxuriously furnished, decorated primarily in green and black. It's entirely too dark and dim for my tastes, honestly, but it'll suffice, I suppose. 

"I don't know if you're actually going to be in Slytherin house once the term starts, but here you go," McGonagall says. "Make yourself comfortable, for now. Your trunk will be along shortly. How long have you been staying at Hogwarts?" 

"Since the beginning of July," I admit. 

"And you've been in the Headmaster's guest quarters that entire time?" McGonagall says disapprovingly. 

"Yes, ma'am," I say. "I don't understand why it's a problem..." 

"You're too young to understand that, and be glad for it," McGonagall says. "But I haven't even seen you until yesterday. What have you been doing cooped up in there for a month?" 

"Studying," I reply honestly. "I've already read through _Magical Theory_ and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , and have gotten a fair bit into _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ and _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_." 

"I see," McGonagall says. "Well, in that case, perhaps you'll wind up in Ravenclaw instead. Carry on, then." 

Professor McGonagall turns and leaves the common room, and I go to explore the dormitories. It feels weird having all this space to myself. Hmm, maybe I can take advantage of this to practice some of the spells I've been learning, now that I actually have my own wand. I've been spending so much time reading about theory, and haven't actually tested anything out yet. Well, part of that was not having access to a wand until a few days ago. 

Well, let's start simple. A basic light spell. Harmless enough, and it's pretty dim in here anyway. I don't have the book in front of me at the moment, but I believe I remember the incantation and wand movements. 

I pull out my pine wand from my robes, and say, " _Lumos_." The wand flickers and sputters a little, but the light doesn't stay on like it's supposed to. I must not have it quite right yet. " _Lumos!_ " I say more insistantly. This time, the pine wand flashes and blinks for a few seconds before going out. Well, at least it's doing _something_ , I suppose. I was a little concerned at first that this form of magic wasn't going to work for me at all, but that was just paranoia talking, I think. 

I go back to the dorms, and realize that my trunk has appeared near one of the beds. Strange, I was in the common room and didn't see anyone pass me. They must have just teleported the trunk directly in here, or something. But Dumbledore said that teleportation didn't work in Hogwarts. I scratch my head and set aside that mystery for the moment in favor of digging out _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ and examining its description of the Wand-Lighting Charm some more to see what I'm doing wrong. 

During the next few weeks, I spend a lot of time reading, practicing, and meditating, in between my Occlumency lessons. And I'm not particularly good at the meditating part. 

Practicing simple spells might have been a better idea had I not decided to try out the Fire-Making Charm. Okay, that was probably a bad idea. Well, at least I only got myself _killed_ in the subsequent conflagration. At least that'll save me the trouble of having to explain what happened to the common room. Maybe I shouldn't mention this one to Snape and Dumbledore. 

I also keep up reading the _Daily Prophet_. Gringotts was apparently broken into on the day I went to Diagon Alley. Someone tried to rob a high security vault, but nothing was stolen, because the vault had already been emptied. Was it the same vault that Hagrid and I visited? I'd forgotten all about the package Hagrid picked up for Dumbledore. Well, if it's for Dumbledore and someone tried to steal it, I imagine it's probably something important. It's not really my business, though. I trust Dumbledore, after all. I have to. 

I ease off on the practicing spells a bit after that and stick to reading. It's dangerous, and I'd rather not die more than necessary. Burning to death hurt. I'm eager for school to start, so the real learning can begin.


	4. Journey to Hogwarts

"Why do I need to go to London to get on a train to come right back here?" I wonder. 

"It will be a good opportunity for you to meet some of your classmates," Dumbledore says. "Also, it would perhaps be best if they did not realize you had just spent the summer at Hogwarts." 

I nod. "Alright." 

And so I wind up dragging my trunk through the Floo to get to London and dragging it several blocks to King's Cross station, just so I can get on a train to come back to where I started. My owl, Solomon, having been retrieved from the Hogwarts Owlery, is riding along on top of the trunk and making the occasional protesting sound. I decide not to dwell too much on how it seems counter-productive. I'll be having to deal with the other students for the next seven years, so it would be good to get the proper first impression. 

Hauling along the trunk, I try to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Hmm, there's nine, and there's ten, with a brick barrier between them. Am I even in the right place? And I'm getting a number of odd looks from some of the people milling about the station. I find myself flushing in embarrassment, wondering what I've done wrong this time. 

I overhear a nearby voice, saying, "... packed with Muggles, as always." 

I glance over to see who said that, and see a family of redheads passing behind me. There's a middle-aged woman with four boys and a girl, all of them with fire-colored orange hair. The boys are all pushing trunks like mine, and one of them even has an owl. 

"Excuse me," I say, approaching them. "Are you guys going to Hogwarts, too?" 

"Hello, dear," the mother says. "Is it your first year? Ron will be new this year, too." 

I give the group of them a look over. The youngest boy, Ron, seems to be around my age. There's a pair of twins who appear to be a couple years older than us, and another boy who is a couple years older than them. The girl, on the other hand, might be a year or two younger. 

"My name is Harry Potter," I say, bowing to them in greeting. "Who might you all be?" 

"Harry Potter?" the family exclaims in chorus. 

I laugh softly and show them my scar. "No, I'm Harry Potter. You can't all be Harry Potter too! I've got this role claimed!" 

The twins laugh, and one of them says, "I like this one, Mum." 

"Can we keep him?" says the other twin. 

Their mother ignores them, and smiles at me. "I'm Molly Weasley, and these are my sons, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and my daughter, Ginny." She gestures to each of them in turn, and they all give a smile and a friendly wave. "It's good to meet you, young man." 

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," I say graciously. "Could you help me, perhaps? I'm afraid they didn't tell me how to get to the platform, and everyone around here has been looking at me funny. I was afraid I'd gone to the wrong place!" 

"Oh!" Molly Weasley says. "That's probably because you're wearing a robe. They're all Muggles around here, you know." 

"Oh..." I say kind of dumbly. "Oops, didn't even notice." Or remember that Muggles aren't used to seeing people in robes running around. "Well, all things considered, I suppose I'm lucky I didn't accidentally come naked." 

Ron and the twins laugh a bit at that, and Ginny can't help but crack a grin. 

"Anyway, to get onto the platform, you just need to walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten," Molly goes on. "And it's important not to be afraid that you'll run into it." 

"Ah, I see, if you think it'll stop you, it'll stop you," I say. 

"Here, Percy, be a dear and go on through and show him," Molly says. 

"Alright, Mum," Percy says. He wheels his cart around and heads straight for the barrier. Then, suddenly, he's not there anymore. 

"I see," I say. "Shall I go next?" 

"Go ahead, dear," Molly says. "It helps to take it at a run if you're nervous about it." 

"I'm good," I say. "Just a little annoyed that somebody forgot to mention that bit to me." I grin and head for the barrier myself. 

I can just imagine someone who didn't grow up around magic might have some trouble with something like this. I find it a little hard to comprehend, and I can understand Draco's unease with regards to Muggle-borns. On Lezaria, even people who don't have magic know full well that it exists. But then, Lezaria apparently also has an unusually high level of magic, and most of the people there are what these people might call Squibs. 

I pass through the barrier without missing a beat. On the other side, a bright red train waits next to the platform. Students and their families are crowded around the place. Children are climbing aboard the train one by one, poking their heads out of windows, or talking to their families as they wait for their turn. Behind me, the Weasleys come through the barrier one at a time. 

"You need a hand with your trunk?" one of the twins says. 

"Nah, I'm good," I say. I load my trunk onto the train. It doesn't really seem very heavy. It's been two months, but I'm still used to Lezaria's gravity. I can just imagine when I get used to this place, it'll be difficult to adjust to being back on Lezaria again. Oh well, I can deal with that when the time comes. 

I climb aboard the train and look around for a seat. The place is pretty full already, but I manage to find an empty compartment. I'm half-tempted to just bring out a book and spend the trip reading, but if I were going to do that, I might as well have just stayed at Hogwarts. 

"Hey," says a boy poking his head into the compartment. It's the youngest of the Weasley brothers, Ron. "Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken." 

"Come on in," I say, smiling at him. "Ron Weasley, right?" 

"You actually remembered my name?" Ron says. 

"What, I just met you five minutes ago," I say. "It usually takes me at least ten minutes to forget someone's name!" 

Ron laughs lightly. "It's just... you're really Harry Potter! You've got the scar and everything! Do you... do you remember anything about it?" 

"Not really, no," I reply honestly. "I was only a baby, after all." I have to think how much it would have sucked if Harry had my ability. At a year old, he wouldn't have been able to do anything to avoid his immanent death. I have to grimace just thinking about it. 

Ron misinterprets my expression. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." 

"It's alright," I assure him. "Don't worry about it." 

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," Ron says. "But you've got an American accent. Were you raised by Muggles there?" 

"The Muggles bit was just a cover story," I explain. "I've never actually lived with Muggles. I was sent to the States and taken in by a wizarding family there, and went by a false name. I know they weren't the ones who birthed me, but it's hard to think of anyone else as my real family." 

"Oh, I see," Ron says. "What were they like?" 

"Pureblood, a little crazy -- excuse me, I should say 'eccentric'," I say, chuckling. "Just don't get them started on family or they'll bring out a family tree and start babbling about how amazing their fifth great-uncle was. They pretty much kept to themselves, though. Lived out on an estate near a tiny Muggle village, nothing but farms for miles in every direction." 

"They remind me a lot of my own family," Ron says. 

They might all be dead at the moment, for all I know. But it's easier to think of them as if they're still alive. I don't know what happened to them, so I've resolved not to worry about it. And I'm a damned time traveler. I don't know how I'll get back that far again, but I'm certain that sooner or later, I'll figure something out. 

"My adoptive mother, Anara, is quite the fierce woman, though a bit obsessive with work sometimes," I go on. "My aunt, Thelsa, is great with plants. My grandmother, Keli, travels a lot. And my great-grandmother, Hawthorne... hoo boy. Best duelist I've ever seen, and she's got a thing for swords. She must be about ninety, and she can swing around a greatsword like nobody's business." 

"Wow," Ron says. 

I go on, "I've got two cousins, Helga and Hilda, twins, who are about the same age as your sister. They were like sisters to me, growing up. I kind of wish they could join us at Hogwarts next year, but I don't think it's going to happen. So what's your family like? They seem pretty great from what little I've seen of them." 

"Well, my mum used to be a champion duelist when she was younger," Ron says. "My dad works for the Ministry of Magic. My oldest brother, Bill, works for Gringotts as a curse-breaker. The next oldest is Charlie, who went off to study dragons in Romania. Percy's a prefect, takes himself a bit too seriously at times. The twins, Fred and George, are big pranksters. And Ginny, well, she's a little sister, what can I say?" 

"It must be nice to have brothers," I say. 

"Eh, not really," Ron says, shrugging. "You've got a lot to live up to, and you never get anything new. I got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat." Ron pulls out a fat, sleeping gray rat from his robes. "This is Scabbers. He's completely useless. Sleeps _all_ the time." 

"Well, I hope he doesn't get eaten by all the owls," I say. 

Ron's face goes a little pale at that thought. "I sure hope not." 

A woman pushing a cart full of candy comes by. "Would you like anything, dears?" 

It's been a while since breakfast, and a lot of what she has looks tasty, so I buy several sickles worth of treats. I haven't actually had a chance to try a lot of this stuff before. 

"You must be hungry," Ron observes. 

"Just a little," I say, munching on a Cauldron Cake. 

"I just have sandwiches..." Ron says a little glumly. 

"What kind?" I ask. 

"Corned beef," Ron says, making a face. "I hate corned beef. Mum always forgets that, though. She doesn't have much time, you know, with all of us." 

I wonder what this 'corned beef' tastes like. "I forgot to pack a real lunch, myself. I'll trade you for some of this." 

"Oh, you don't want this, it's awfully dry and all," Ron says. 

"Sure I do," I assure him. "I'm sure it tastes like love! Please?" 

Ron looks at me strangely. "You're weird, you know that? Alright, alright, if you want them that much, you can have them." 

I swap some of my treats from Ron's sandwiches, and take a bite of one. "Mmm. Your mom's a great cook. These are delicious. Thanks." 

Ron grins and takes a big bite of a Pumpkin Pasty. "I'll be sure to tell her you said so." 

I did keep some of the sweets for myself, one of each kind at least. "They didn't have a lot of this stuff where I grew up, either," I say. I finish the sandwich and open up a Chocolate Frog. It startles me and almost hops away. 

"They've got cards in them that you can collect," Ron says. "I have about five hundred of them, but I'm still missing Agrippa and Ptolemy." 

I pull out the card that came with the frog and say brightly, "I got Dumbledore!" 

"I got Morgana again," Ron says. "I've got about six of her. Do you want it? You can start your own collection." 

"Sure, why not?" I say. Next I turn to the bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Or I suppose I should say 'Flavour'. What's the extra 'u' for, I wonder? They sure spell things funny in this world sometimes. 

"Be careful with those," Ron advises. "They really do mean every flavor. You might get good ones like lemon, cherry, or mint, or you might wind up with stuff like onions, or broccoli, or vomit." 

"Weird," I say. Frowning a little, I pick one out and toss it in my mouth. "Ugh. I think that one was _dung_. You can have these. I'm not feeling adventurous enough for this." 

"Rotten luck," Ron says, accepting the bag of flavored beans from me. 

I eat through another of Mrs. Weasley's sandwiches. A boy pokes his head into our compartment and asks, "Have either of you seen my toad? I've lost him and I can't find him anywhere!" 

"Haven't seen any toads," I say. "I hope he didn't get eaten by an owl." 

The boy's eyes widen a little, and he says, "I sure hope not! Let me know if you see him." He hurries along. 

"What's it with you and wondering if people's pets will get eaten by owls?" Ron says. 

"Maybe the owls are trained well enough to recognize what prey is off limits," I say, shrugging. 

"Well, I don't think I'd be _too_ upset if something happened to Scabbers," Ron says. "The way he sleeps, he might die and you'd never notice. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday, to try to make him a little more interesting, but the spell didn't even do anything. I'll show you." 

He pulls out an old, battered wand that looks like it has seen its better days. Before he can show me the spell he means, however, a girl with bushy brown hair appears at the door to the compartment. 

"Have you seen a toad?" she asks. "Neville's lost his." 

"I think he was the one who just came by," I say. "I told him we haven't seen one." 

"Oh, are you going to cast a spell?" she says, coming in to sit across from Ron. "Let me see." 

"Well, alright," Ron says awkwardly. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." He waves his wand over Scabbers, but nothing happens. 

"I don't think that's a real spell," the girl says. 

"I think whoever taught you that 'spell' was pulling your leg," I point out. 

"Aw, man," Ron says, making a face. "I should've known the twins would try to put one over on me." 

"I've tried out a few simple spells so far, and they worked for me just fine," she says. "It was such a surprise when I got my letter, since I'm the first in my family to have magic. I'm afraid I might be behind those students who have grown up around magic, so I read through all our course books and a few extras as well. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way." 

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron says. 

"Harry Potter," I say, bowing a little in my seat. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Are you really?" Hermione says. 

"I'm pretty sure," I say with a crooked grin, showing her my scar. "At least, that's what they tell me. I mean, maybe the whole country's playing a huge joke on me, for all I know!" 

"Why would they joke about something like that?" Hermione says. 

"Well, you see, I grew up in secret with a different name, was adopted by another family and everything," I say. "I've been Lexen all my life. It's weird to think of myself as Harry now. But they said it was to protect me, so I guess I'll take their word for it." 

"You grew up without even knowing who you were?" Hermione says. 

"Hey, I know perfectly well who I am," I reply with a grin. "I'm _me_. And that's all that's really important, isn't it?" 

"I suppose so," Hermione says. "Do either of you know what house you might be in? I hope I'll be in Gryffindor. That sounds like the best of them, for sure." 

"I wouldn't go so far as to think any of them are any 'better' or 'worse' than any others," I say. "They're just different." 

"Even Slytherin?" Ron says. "I imagine that would be horrible. That's the house You-Know-Who used to be in, after all!" 

"I won't judge them," I say. "What if _I_ wound up in Slytherin? I'm pretty ambitious too, you know." 

"Well, er," Ron says awkwardly. "But _you're_ not a bad sort, I don't think." 

"I imagine there are plenty of Slytherins who aren't bad sorts," I say. "It's just the few of them that are who get the attention." 

As if on cue, three boys enter the compartment. I recognize the middle one from the tailor in Diagon Alley. Draco Malfoy. The other two are heavyset and fierce-looking, and they seem to give the impression that they're guarding Draco. 

"Ah, hi, Draco," I say cordially. "Want to come sit with us? We've got some candy left, too." 

"You know him?" Ron says. "But he's a Malfoy..." 

"And you must be a Weasley," Draco says. "My father told me all about them. Red hair and more children than they can afford." 

"Funny, they didn't seem to be starving or naked to me," I say. "And they're sending all their children to Hogwarts. That doesn't really strike me as particularly poor." 

"Well, they're also Muggle-lovers..." Draco goes on. 

"That sounds a little strange, but hardly reason for hostility," I say. "I mean, come on. Have you two even met each other before? Are you going to hate people right off the bat just because your parents tell you to?" 

Draco and Ron look at me in unison and say, "Yes." 

I put my face in my palms. "Why can't we all just be friends?" I wonder aloud. 

Draco snorts softly. "And who's this other new friend of yours?" he asks, looking over to Hermione. 

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says. 

"Granger?" Draco repeats. "I've never heard of any wizard named Granger before." 

"No one in my family has had magic before," Hermione replies. 

"So you're a Mudblood then," Draco says. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asks. 

"He means that he thinks his family is better than yours, Hermione," I tell her. "As if there's only one way to judge a person. Draco, if you can't be nice, would you please leave? My friends have done nothing to you to deserve this." 

Draco is quiet for a few moments, and then says, "Fine. I didn't want to hang around with this lot, anyway." He and his companions leave the compartment again. 

"Sorry about that, Hermione," I say. "Would you like some Chocolate Frogs?" I offer her some candy. 

"Oh, thanks, but I really shouldn't," Hermione says. "My parents are dentists, you see, and they say that too much sugar is bad for your teeth..." 

I give her an odd look. "I've never heard of anything like that. And it sounds awfully dull to me. Well, I've still got one of these corned beef sandwiches left if you like. Ron's mom made them, and they're delicious." 

"Oh, that sounds good," Hermione says, accepting the sandwich from me and taking a bite. "Thank you." 

"Does everybody like those except me?" Ron says. 

"You don't like your mum's food?" Hermione says. 

"No, I just don't like corned beef," Ron replies. "But she always gives it to me anyway." 

"Why don't you just tell her that, then?" Hermione asks. 

"She never remembers," Ron says dejectedly. "Harry, how do you know Malfoy?" 

"I met him at Diagon Alley when I went shopping for school supplies," I reply. "And you don't need to warn me about his family. I've heard it all already." 

"Then why were you so friendly to him?" Ron wonders. 

"Children are not their parents," I say. "I'd rather make my own judgments. Although, he's not really doing much to endear me to him so far." I roll my eyes. "He's just a bit of a brat, not an evil dark wizard, though." 

"I suppose," Ron says reluctantly. "I still don't like him, though." 

The train rolls on, and we soon arrive at Hogsmeade Station. Hermione had to leave our compartment so that we could get changed into our school robes. I like my regular blue-gray ones better. Wearing black just makes me feel like a walking evil cliche. 

The students all stream out of the train, and the first years are separated from the lot and directed to the lakeshore, where a number of boats are waiting to take us across. Many of the students get their first real look at Hogwarts, and react suitably impressed at the sight. 

I share a boat with Ron, Hermione, and Neville on the way across. We arrive at the far side in silence, and are brought up into the castle. There we're directed to wait for the Sorting Ceremony to begin. 

"Fred said we're going to need to do some sort of test to be sorted into our houses," Ron says. "He said it'll hurt a lot. I hope he was joking." 

"I think you shouldn't listen to _anything_ your prankster brothers tell you," I say with a smirk. 

"I reckon you might have a point there," Ron admits. "Especially considering he was hinting about wrestling a troll." 

"And you still listen to him?" I say. "I mean, come on, we're eleven! And we haven't even had any classes yet! What would they seriously expect us to do against a troll? Use harsh language?" 

"I don't know," Ron says. 

We're finally brought into the Great Hall. It's a massive, cavernous room, lit by many candles floating overhead. Hermione, behind me, is muttering something about _Hogwarts, a History_. I really ought to find the time to read through that sometime. 

At the front of the room, an old, battered hat is sitting on top of a stool. I remember seeing this hat in Dumbledore's office. Is this what is used for the Sorting, then? I have to blink a little when the hat starts _singing_ , of all things. Whatever I might have expected, this isn't it. 

Once the hat is done singing, Professor McGonagall begins to call our names one by one to come up to the front and try on the hat. I stand back, watching quietly as each student comes forward and gets directed to one of the four tables. I make an effort to try to match a name and house to each of their faces, but I think I'm going to wind up forgetting most of them. 

Hermione and Neville get Gryffindor, and Draco gets put into Slytherin, predictably. Then, McGonagall calls for "Potter, Harry!" 

There's a buzz of talk around the room as I walk forward to try on the hat. "Well, hello, Lexen," says a voice inside my head. "Yes, I've been sitting in the Headmaster's office. I've heard everything. Now, let's see, where to put you..." 

"I honestly have no idea," I think back at the hat. "I think I'd like to try them all..." 

There's a soft chuckling sound in my mind. "You'd do well in any of the houses, I think. You're courageous, intelligent, hard-working, and ambitious, yes, you have all of those in spades, in fact. You're a difficult one to place." 

"I'll be happy with any of them," I think. "Where do you think would be best for me?" 

"Hmm... I think it's your courage that stands out the most," the hat tells me. 

"Is it really courage when I know I can't really die?" I comment. 

The hat chuckles again. "Perhaps, perhaps not. And do you really believe that Sardill could not find a way to kill you if he so wished to?" 

"Ugh, don't mention Sardill..." I think, feeling a little ill at its words. 

"You set yourself unflinchingly against impossible odds, all for the sake of helping others," the hat says. "You could go anywhere and do anything, and yet this is what you choose to do. I'm going to have to say GRYFFINDOR!" 

This last word is shouted aloud to the rest of the room. There's uproarous applause from the Gryffindor table. I go over to take a seat next to Hermione. Ron joins us shortly as well. Once everyone is sorted and seated at their tables, Professor Dumbledore stands up, beaming at us with open arms. 

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore says. "I'm glad to see you all here today. I'd like to say a few words: Kumquat! Scuttlebutt! Doofus! Duck!" 

I have to laugh aloud at his choice of words, and call, "Hear, hear!" 

Piles upon piles of food appear on the table, and the feast begins. I feel like just digging in and stuffing myself today. I absently listen to the conversation at the table as I eat. Stories about how Seamus's father didn't know his mother was a witch until they were married, or about how Neville's family were worried that he might not be magical. 

I'd thought at first that the strangest thing about this world was the use of wands and incantations to do magic, but now I've changed my mind. The strangest thing is definitely the separation between the magical and Muggle worlds. The use of foci and arcane words is just a little odd, but the complete division of magical and non-magical people is utterly baffling to me. They must go to great effort to make sure that no one finds out about magic. I can't even imagine how they manage to keep it contained like this. 

Once the feast is over, Dumbledore stands up again to give some announcements. A note about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden, which sounds pretty redundant to me. Quidditch tryouts that I'm not really interested in. A reminder about not using magic in the corridors between classes, which I don't think anyone will pay attention to anyway. And a warning that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is to be avoided by anyone who doesn't want to die horribly. 

"Something special on the third floor?" I wonder, raising an eyebrow. 

"I don't know," says Percy Weasley. "He usually gives a reason for things like that. But he didn't even tell us prefects about it." 

We're directed to bed now, as it's getting late. I follow the way to the Gryffindor tower. This entrance is hidden by a portrait requesting a password, with a round hole to climb in. I go in with the others and look around my new common room. I think I like this one better than the Slytherin one. It's more brightly lit, for one thing. This one's primarily decorated in red, and seems very comfortable. 

I don't hang around the place too much at the moment, however. It's late, and it's been a busy day. Percy is directing the first years to their dormitories, and I head up to mine. Our trunks have already been brought in and placed in our dorms. 

I'm apparently sharing a room with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. I've never shared a room before in my life, and it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. But at least our big, four-poster beds have curtains that I can close.


	5. Starting Classes

I finally start in at my classes at Hogwarts. I have to admit that I'm excited about this. Almost as much as I had been about the prospect of going to Torn Elkandu for the first time. I just have to hope that this time, I'm not going to meet with some horrible disaster just a week in. 

My least favorite class is Astronomy. I don't see how this will help me learn magic or even to get by in the world at all. And I really don't appreciate having to go up at midnight every Wednesday to stare at the sky. I miss the two moons of Lezaria. 

Herbology's a little more practical, at least. Although it's not what I'd prefer to study, I figure it might come in handy at some point, even though I doubt I'd exactly have time to wait for a plant to grow if I'm facing down a dark wizard. 

History of Magic is taught by a ghost. I'm interested in the subject matter, as it'll help me get a grasp on this world, but the way Professor Binns teaches makes me just want to spend the class period taking a nap. And it appears that I'm not the only one having that thought. 

I've been really looking forward to Charms, too. I'm excited at the prospect of trying out some practical spells, or showing off the ones that I managed to get more or less down during the summer. But instead, to my disappointment, we're to spend the class period reading and discussing magical theory. Well, I suppose it's good to have a grounding for what we're doing. I push aside my disappointment and focus upon gleaning what knowledge I can, and refreshing what I've already read over. 

I'm excited about Transfiguration, too. Even if it's just another lecture on magical theory. That's okay, too. When I walk into the classroom, there's a cat sitting on the desk. As I watch, the cat jumps onto the floor and transforms into Professor McGonagall. 

"That's totally awesome," I say. "Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon?" 

Professor McGonagall replies, "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I'm afraid you won't likely be ready for such an attempt for quite some time. Today, you will be transfiguring matchsticks into needles." 

"Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon _later_?" I beg. "Please?" 

"No promises, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "I am an Animagus, and that is a talent that takes years of study and diligent practice to master. Not everyone can become an Animagus. You only get one form, and you do not get to choose your form. It is highly doubtful that you would become so fanciful as a dragon if you were to actually manage it." 

"I'd make a great dragon!" I insist. 

"Furthermore, the level of Transfiguration required to perform such a feat without being an Animagus is quite advanced and complex," McGonagall. "For today... Matchsticks. Needles. If you can handle this, perhaps, one day, you might have some hope of fulfilling your dream." 

Professor McGonagall launches into the lesson, explaining the means by which to utilize one's magic to transfigure an object and alter its form and substance. I listen with great interest and enthusiasm. 

So, once the lecture is over and the practical part of class begins, I pull out my wand and attempt to follow the instructions given to transform my matchstick. Nothing happens. My heart sinks a little. Well, maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about not getting it on the first try. I wave my wand over the matchstick again, and again. Still nothing. Ah, come on, can't it at least change a _little_? 

"Look here," McGonagall says, holding up Hermione's work for the class to see. "See how it's now silver and pointy? Good work, Hermione. Five points to Gryffindor." 

"Good job, Hermione," I say, grinning at her and making a mental note that _she's_ the one to study with. 

Then there's Defense Against the Dark Arts. This is the class I had most been looking forward to. I'm practically bouncing in my seat with excitement as the lesson begins. Quirrell stutters a lot and his turban smells funny, but surely he wouldn't have gotten the position if he doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Unfortunately, that still remains to be seen. 

On Friday morning, Solomon flutters in at breakfast to bring me a letter in addition to today's _Daily Prophet_. I pick it up and take a look at it. It's from Hagrid, inviting me to tea this afternoon. I shrug and scribble, "Sure, why not?" and send it back with Solomon. 

Today we have Potions with the Slytherins. While it's hardly a class I'm particularly looking forward to for the subject matter, I _am_ happy to be going to a class with Snape. I don't want to disappoint him. 

I make sure to pair off with Hermione. Potions isn't really my sort of magic. It requires so much precision and preparation. I'm pretty mediocre with it, but Hermione makes up for that. I have to feel a little sorry for Ron, who got stuck with Neville as his partner. Their cauldron practically explodes partway through class, causing Neville to erupt with boils. 

"You added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, didn't you, Longbottom?" Snape says. "Weasley, take him to the hospital wing." 

I'm glad none of the faulty potion managed to get on me. They were awfully close to me. 

"And you, Potter," Snape says, looking at me meaningfully. "Detention. Tomorrow. Straight after dinner." 

"Me?" I protest obligatorily. "What did I do?" 

"Don't talk back to your teacher, Potter," Snape says. "You should have stopped Longbottom from botching his potion so badly." 

I bite my lip and look down, and say, "Yes, Professor." 

We resume the lesson, and Seamus leans over to me and murmurs, "Rough time, mate." 

Ron, Hermione, and I go over to Hagrid's hut that afternoon to join him for tea. I'm mostly just trying to be polite and socialize a bit. I can't spend every moment studying, after all. 

"Hello, kids," Hagrid says. "Make yourselves at home. Who'd you bring with you? It's nice to see you're making friends already, Harry." 

"This is Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger," I introduce them. 

"Ah, I should've guessed he was another Weasley," Hagrid says. "I remember your brother, Charlie. I liked him, good with animals." 

"Yeah, and now he's off studying dragons," Ron says, trying to nibble on one of Hagrid's rock cakes. 

"He's lucky, that boy is," Hagrid says. "Dragons are such magnificent creatures. I wish I could have one." 

"You want to _have_ one?" Hermione says. "But that's dangerous. And illegal." 

"I know, I know," Hagrid says. "I can dream, can't I?" 

Hermione gives up on her own rock cake after seeing how much it lives up to its name, muttering something about what her parents would do if she broke a tooth. "What's this?" she asks, pulling up a piece of paper that was on the table. 

I glance over at it. It's a newspaper clipping from the _Daily Prophet_. "Oh, the break-in at Gringotts? I heard about that." 

"I wonder what they were after?" Hermione says. "It says nothing was even stolen." 

I turn to Hagrid and say, "It was the package you picked up for Dumbledore, wasn't it? Lucky you retrieved it, isn't it?" 

"Have some more rock cakes, kids," Hagrid says, evading the question. 

I chuckle softly at the obvious avoidance. "Although I have to wonder why Dumbledore had _you_ do it. You're a great guy and all, Hagrid, but you're really bad at keeping a secret. Especially when you've got a newspaper article about it sitting right on your table. Anyway, I wasn't going to ask about it. I trust Dumbledore and I respect his privacy. If it were something he wanted me to know, he'd have told me." 

"Dumbledore's a great man, isn't he?" Hagrid says, smiling at me. 

* * *

The next Thursday, we've got flying lessons with the Slytherins. That just strikes me as a disaster waiting to happen even worse than Potions. Okay, maybe Potions is worse. Let's just put together two groups of people who have taken it upon themselves to be pointless rivals, and give them dangerous chemicals! Great plan, guys. 

"I've never ridden a broom before," I say a little uneasily. "Have you guys?" 

Hermione shakes her head, and Ron says, "I used to play around with Charlie's old broom. I once almost hit a hang glider!" 

"My gran would never let me near one," Neville says. 

"Now everyone stand beside a broom!" Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, tells us. "Stick your right hand out over the broom, and say 'Up!'" 

"What if I'm left-handed, ma'am?" I ask as the other students start following her instructions. 

"Just do it, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch says. 

"Alright then..." I say dubiously, positioning myself over the broom. "Up!" The broom jerks a little. "Up!" The broom bounces up and hits me in the knee. "Up, damn it!" The broom hits me in the face. "Ow!" I give a glare to Madam Hooch and move over to the other side of the broom, and put out my left hand instead. "Up!" This time, the broom jumps up to my hand like it's supposed to. 

"You're going to have trouble with it if you do it that way," Madam Hooch says. 

"Don't tell me you've never had a left-handed student before?" I say. 

"You're supposed to use your right hand, even if you're left-handed," Hooch says. "You! Mr. Malfoy! You grip is all wrong!" 

"But it didn't work for me the other way, and it worked right away when I tried it this way," I protest. 

"And you'll keep getting it wrong until you learn it the right way," Hooch insists. "Now, watch, children. This is how you properly mount a broom..." 

After she finishes her instructions and demonstrations, we're to kick off in unison. I'm still stubbornly using the broom my way. It's a little awkward, but at least it works. The charms on the broom seem to be set up backwards to me. 

Then, Neville rises up into the air prematurely. He shoots up into the air rapidly, and then slips off his broom. There's a sickening crunch as he lands on the ground. I think he must have broken something. 

"Looks like a broken wrist," Hooch says. "I'm going to take this boy to the hospital wing. The rest of you better stay on the ground while I'm gone if you know what's good for you!" 

That's practically an invitation to cause trouble. What's she thinking? Draco is already laughing at Neville's ineptitude again. He goes over to where Neville fell and picks up something shiny from the grass. 

"Look what I've got," Draco says. "Isn't this that stupid thing Longbottom's grandmother sent him to remember things?" 

"Draco, why can't you be nicer to people?" I say. 

"Why should I?" Draco says. "He's practically a Squib, anyway!" 

"That's no reason to be a prat," I say. "Besides, he's great with Herbology. I'd probably fail that class if it weren't for him." 

"Bah," Draco says. "If you really want this stupid thing, come and take it from me!" 

Draco takes off and circles into the air on his broom. Fine, I'll see about that. I kick off, keeping a tight grip on my broom to make sure I don't meet the same fate Neville did. But I'm still not quite used to the gravity on this world, and I overestimate my strength. I shoot up high into the air. Thankfully, there's nothing in my direct path to run into before I can get control over my broom again. 

"You're almost as bad as Longbottom with that!" Draco mocks me. "Almost, anyway. At least you haven't fallen off of it yet!" 

"Give me a break, Draco," I say. "I've never flown on one of these things before in my life." 

"Hah," Draco laughs at me. "You'd be rubbish at Quidditch. Let's see if you can catch this!" 

Draco throws Neville's Remembrall up in the air. It sails up in a wide arc. I keep my eyes on the ball as it starts coming down, trying to position myself beneath it to try to catch it. 

Crunch! I entirely failed to notice I was too close to the castle wall. Pain. _Pain_. I think something's broken, and not just the broom. I go tumbling toward the ground. Gazing up at the clear blue sky. I'm going to die, aren't I? Well, I hope so. Recovering from all the broken bones I'm about to get would suck a lot more than a quick death. 

I strike the ground at an odd angle. Mercifully, my neck snaps, and it's over. 

* * *

I groan softly as I wake up in my bed in the Gryffindor dorms, and rub my neck self-consciously. Well, that was a little unpleasant. 

We have Charms and Transfiguration on Thursdays. I don't mind sitting through those classes again. I can especially use the extra practice in Transfiguration. 

Then, the afternoon flying lesson comes around again. I stubbornly continue to use the broom left-handed, against Hooch's protests. It's not my damned fault people built these things backwards. But I have my wand at the ready. I know what's going to happen. 

As Neville goes tumbling toward the ground, I point my wand and shout, " _Spongify!_ " Neville strikes the ground, which is now very soft and rubbery, and bounces a few times. He doesn't appear to be harmed. 

"Good job, Mr. Potter," Hooch says. "Five points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking. Mr. Longbottom, are you alright?" 

"I-- I'm okay," Neville says. "Thanks, Harry." 

I go over to pick up the shiny ball from the spongy ground he'd landed on. "Here, you dropped this." 

"Oh, my Remembrall," Neville says, taking it. "Thanks again." 

The remainder of the lesson goes much better this time. Draco doesn't steal Neville's Remembrall. I don't fall and break my neck. All in all, a good day. The second time, at least. 

Draco approaches me at dinner, flanked by his bodyguards as usual. Crabbe and Goyle, I think their names were. I haven't figured out which is which yet. "You think you're so noble, Potter, sticking up for Mudbloods, Squibs, and blood traitors," Draco says. 

"What's your problem this time, Draco?" I ask. 

"You've rotten choice in friends, Potter," Draco says. "You think you can protect them all the time?" 

I tried to be friendly with Draco at one point, but he's just been antagonizing me more and more. I bristle with annoyance at him. "And you think you're so hot, with those two around to protect _you_? I'd imagine that they don't know anything but hexes and jinxes." 

"I'll take you on anytime, one on one," Draco says. "How about tonight? Wizard's duel. Midnight in the the trophy room." 

"You're on," I say without thinking about it. 

"Crabbe's my second," Draco says. "Who's yours?" 

"I am," Ron interjects. 

What's the second for, I wonder? Dueling traditions must be different than those the Elkandu use, I suppose. No matter. I'll get Ron to drill me on it after dinner. 

"Be there," Draco says. "And don't be late." He turns to stride off with his goons. 

I'm pretty tired by the time night comes around. I'd like nothing better than to curl up in my bed and sleep. In fact, I'd have loved to have gone to bed early. Of course I'm tired. I woke up at seven o'clock this morning. Twice. So by the time midnight rolls around, I'll have actually been awake for almost twenty-four hours. 

It's a good thing I'm from Lezaria. Lezarian days are twenty-eight hours long, so I'm used to having a few more hours in my day. Still, I don't like the prospect of going to a duel so tired, and would really like to have had a nap in there. I don't think I've have trusted myself not to just sleep until morning, however. So I brush off my tiredness and head down to the common room at eleven thirty with Ron. 

"Where are you two going?" says Hermione. 

"Er," Ron says uneasily, which is more than I can manage to get out. 

"You shouldn't go wandering around the school at night!" Hermione admonishes us. "You'll get in trouble!" 

"We'll be careful," I assure her. "Don't worry about us." 

"But if you get caught, you'll lose lots of points for Gryffindor!" Hermione says. "I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup!" 

I stare at her incredulously. "I honestly don't _care_ about points or the house cup. I came to Hogwarts to learn magic, not to play stupid games like that." 

"Then what do you think you're doing now?" Hermione says. 

"This is different!" I insist. "This is a matter of honor! I gave my word that I'd be there." 

"I'm going to tell Percy about this!" Hermione says. 

"Do what you think you must," I say. "I won't stop you." 

Ron and I leave the common room and climb out of the portrait hole, and make our way down to the third floor. We move carefully, keeping a close eye out for any sign of the caretaker, Mr. Filch. I have to think that his only purpose at Hogwarts is to get students in trouble. 

We get lost along the way and make a detour to avoid Mrs. Norris, Filch's mangy cat. We arrive in the trophy room late, expecting to see Draco and Crabbe already waiting for us, but it's empty. Nobody's there. 

"Oh, man," Ron says. "Harry, I think we've been set up." 

"What?" I say. "Would Draco really do something like that?" 

"Yes," Ron says. 

There's a sound from outside the trophy room. I turn suddenly to look over to the entrance. Filch is approaching. We've got to get out of here, now! 

Ron and I try to hide, and manage to slip out the far doorway. I think we might manage to get away without being discovered. And then my foot catches something, and a suit of armor goes tumbling to the ground with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead. 

"Run!" Ron cries. 

We make a break for it. We scramble through corridors trying to get away from where Filch is. We almost run into Peeves, the poltergeist, who starts screaming loudly to try to get us in trouble. Then, we hit a locked door blocking our path. 

"It's locked!" Ron says. "Bugger it all, we're doomed!" 

"Relax, Ron," I say, pulling out my wand and pointing it at the door. " _Alohomora._ " I haven't had a good opportunity to try out this spell before. And, of course, I don't get it quite right on the first try. There's a click-click, but the door remains locked. " _Alohomora!_ " I say more insistantly. This time, the lock gives. 

Ron and I yank the door open and rush inside, shutting it behind us. "That was close," Ron says. "He won't find us in here. He'll think this door is still locked." 

Panting a little, I turn around to put my back against the door we'd just come in, and come face to face with an enormous, three-headed hound. A trio of slavering mouths full of long, razor-sharp fangs approaches us. 

"Oh, _shit!_ " I exclaim. I yank open the door again. "Run!" 

"Ahh!" Ron screams, rushing out into the main corridor. 

My hand is still on the door handle. I stumble. Exhaustion is catching up with weariness, and I'm very clumsy in this light gravity when under stress. I fall flat on my face. I hope Ron doesn't stop for me... 

I try to scramble away, but the three-headed dog is upon me before I can even get up again. 

* * *

I wake again, still exhausted. Oh, hell. There's no way I'm going to be able to make it through another day of classes like this. 

I drag myself out of bed in a hurry and make my way down to Professor Snape's office. "Potter? What is it?" Snape asks. 

"Need to ask you a favor, sir," I say. 

"You look like you're about to pass out, Potter," Snape says. "Sit down, before you fall over." 

I collapse into the seat. "I'm going to either need something to keep me awake, or an excuse to sleep through Charms and Transfigurations," I say. 

"You should have slept better last night, then," Snape says. "Were you having nightmares?" 

"That's not it," I say. "Can I... can I speak freely?" 

" _Muffliato_ ," Snape says, giving a wave of his wand. "You may speak without fear of being overheard. Is this something to do with your temporal powers?" 

I nod. "It really takes a toll on me sometimes," I say. "If I've been awake for nine hours before I go back... it still feels like I've been awake for nine hours. I've now been awake for twenty-four hours without rest." 

"Ah," Snape says. "You should have mentioned this earlier. I could have given you a supply of Wideye Potion for when it is required. Here, drink this." He pulls a potion off a shelf and hands it to me. "What killed you this time?" 

I take the bottle and guzzle it down. Immediately, I start to feel more alert. "Flying lessons start today," I explain. "I, er... kind of... fell off a broom and broke my neck." 

"Multiple times?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. "If you are that bad at flying..." 

"No, only once," I say. "The second time, I got mauled by the three-headed dog on the third floor." 

Snape looks at me in surprise. "What on earth were you doing in the forbidden corridor on the third floor?" 

"It was an accident," I say. "I didn't realize where I was. Admittedly, I shouldn't have been there at midnight anyway. You can go ahead and give me detention for that if you want, even if it's _not_ just an excuse for Occlumency lessons." 

"And why, praytell, were you wandering around the school at midnight?" Snape asks. 

"Draco Malfoy challenged me to an honorable duel at midnight in the trophy room," I say. "But I think he just set me up and told Filch instead." 

"Oh, I can just imagine an honorable duel between eleven-year-olds," Snape says. "Making each other get pimples and snotty noses." 

"I didn't think Draco would lie to me," I say. 

Snape sighs and presses his fingers to his temples. "At least you have the presence of mind to be honest about it when you do something foolish, and for that, I'm not going to give you a _real_ detention." I imagine he doesn't want to discourage me from telling him these sorts of things in the future. "I will also brew up some Wideye Potion for your use, for when you get yourself stupidly killed." 

"Thank you, sir," I say. 

"Run along, now, boy," Snape says. "You'd best get yourself changed before breakfast." 

I glance down at myself, and realize that I'd just run all the way across the castle in my lightning bolt pajamas. "Oops," I say. 

I hurry back to Gryffindor Tower to take a shower and get changed before going down to breakfast. I'm quite thankful for Snape's potion. So I'll have to sit through my morning classes again. That's alright. I just need to not get myself killed again by my own foolishness. 

The day passes by in the same way again. I cast another _Spongify_ to stop Neville from breaking his wrist, and return his Remembrall. Then Draco approaches me at dinner once again. 

"You're always sticking up for such filth, Potter," Draco says. "Mudbloods and Squibs? Muggles and blood traitors, too, I imagine." 

"I have a soft spot for the underdogs," I reply lightly. "You know, it's always so much more satisfying when you win against impossible odds, than when victory was a foregone conclusion." 

"What are you talking about?" Draco says. "You really think you're going to win?" 

I shrug. "That wasn't a challenge. That was a suggestion." 

"What do you mean?" Draco says. Well, I've succeeded in confusing him, at least. 

Somehow, though, I don't think that this is the time or place to be having this conversation. The words stumble in my mouth, and I can't make my thoughts make sense. "You know," I say. "Sometimes something is just worth doing. No matter what happens." 

And the moment is past. "Right, Potter," Draco drawls, rolling his eyes. "You go right on being stupidly noble, if you want. That hat was right to put you in Gryffindor." 

He and his cronies wander off again, leaving me to stare at my plate of food, wondering just what it was I was trying to tell him. I think I've just discovered something more important than magic that I need to learn. And that's something that's normally Keolah's forte. Not her magic, not her Seeking powers, but her skill at diplomacy. 

I need to learn how to speak in such a way to convince anyone of anything. That's something that would be useful no matter where or when I go. And that's something that's likely to take years to master. And they don't exactly offer courses on it at Hogwarts.


	6. Halloween Horror

Potions class the next day is interesting after that. 

"Hey, Potter," Draco says. "I'm surprised you didn't come to class in your skivvies, too." 

"I was hoping that nobody saw me," I mutter. 

"Half the castle saw you, mate," Ron says ruefully. 

"Obviously not Draco, or he would have mentioned it to me yesterday," I say. 

"Why were you going to see Snape that early in the morning, anyway?" Ron asks. 

"That's what I'd like to know," Draco says. 

"Quiet down, class," Professor Snape says. "Today's lesson is about to begin." He leans over Ron and Draco. "And I hardly see how Potter's potion requirements are any of your business. If he wishes you to hear the details of his nightmares, he will tell you." 

"Er, sorry, mate," Ron murmurs sheepishly. 

Snape's warning even manages to get Draco to back down, for the moment at any rate. I have a feeling I'm not going to live down the lightning bolt pajamas for a while, though. At least they didn't see me in my dragon pajamas. 

* * *

Weeks roll by, and Halloween comes along. This is a new holiday to me, although it sounds like a fun one. I'm certainly not one to object to a bit of fun and candy. I'm looking forward to the feast in the Great Hall this evening. 

At Charms class this morning, I'm excited that we're finally getting a practical lesson. We're to be casting the Hover Charm to levitate feathers. I'd tried this one out over the summer, but I hadn't quite gotten down the wand movements. 

"Now remember," Professor Flitwick says. "Swish and flick, and say _Wingardium Leviosa_." 

I look over at Ron's attempts next to me, which aren't having much success, mostly due to his pronunciation, I think. 

"Ron, it's _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I tell him. "I don't know why you people from this country are always putting your R's in the wrong places." 

"Here, like this," Hermione says. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " 

Hermione waves her wand, and her feather obediently lifts lightly into the air. Professor Flitwick, upon seeing this, claps his hands a little and says, "Very good, Miss Granger! Five points to Gryffindor." 

As class is ending, Lavender Brown has a few choice words to say to Hermione. "You're suck a stuck-up know-it-all," Lavender says. "You always act like you know better than everyone else. I'll bet the only reason Harry and Ron even act nice to you is so that they can mooch off of you for studying." 

"That's not--" I begin. 

"Is that true?" Hermione demands, spinning toward me. 

"No way!" I insist. "You're my friend!" 

"I don't believe you!" Hermione says, teary-eyed. She vanishes into the crowd. 

Hermione is absent from Transfiguration today. Professor McGonagall frowns a little toward the empty chair where Hermione normally sits. 

"Where is she?" Ron murmurs. "That's not like her. Hermione _never_ cuts class." 

"I think I saw her in the girls' loo, crying," Parvati Patil says. 

"Serves her right," Lavender says quietly. Not quietly enough, as she earns a nasty glare from McGonagall for her comment. 

"Why can't we all just be friends?" I murmur softly, sighing. 

Transfiguration class comes and goes, and I go off to study a bit and do some homework. I'm practically bouncing with eagerness for the feast tonight. New things always get me excited. 

I head down for dinner this evening. The Great Hall is decorated with carved pumpkins containing candles. Live bats swoop around the ceiling. And the feast itself is delicious. So many different kinds of tasty treats. I hadn't realized that pumpkins were so versitile before. Dinner is tasty enough, but I can't wait for dessert. 

Then, Professor Quirrell storms into the Great Hall. "Troll!" he exclaims. "There's a troll in the dungeon! Thought you should know." Then he faints straight away. 

"How did a troll get into the castle?" I wonder. 

"Don't know," Ron says. "Maybe somebody let it in as a prank." 

"Wasn't us," Fred declares. 

"And I always knew Quirrell was useless as a Defense teacher," I say. "Fainting? Really now." 

"He should've stuck with Muggle Studies," says an older boy whose name I don't remember. 

Dumbledore is up front trying to get the crowd to quiet down and get everyone's attention. "Prefects, take your houses to their dormitories straight away." 

Percy begins herding the group around us back up toward Gryffindor Tower. At least the seventh floor should be plenty far enough away from where the troll is to be safe, I suppose. I wonder what they're doing about the Slytherins. Their dormitories are _in_ the dungeons, after all. 

Well, I'm sure the school staff have the issue well in hand. No need to worry about it. I'm just a first year, after all. I'm not even chronologically eleven years old yet. I can barely float feathers and make my wand glow. This isn't my problem. 

We make it back to our common room. "Kind of a pity," I say. "We didn't even have dessert yet." 

"Yeah, rotten luck," Seamus agrees. 

"Don't worry," Percy assures us. "We'll be finishing the feast in the common room." 

"Great!" I exclaim, grinning. 

"Wouldn't want everyone to go hungry, after all," Percy says. 

Food gets sent up, and I engross myself in devouring as many treats as I can fit in my mouth. Not quite the way I'd thought the holiday would go, but I'll not complain. It was certainly a little exciting. The troll thing is probably just a big joke. 

Once I finish with dessert, and feeling like my stomach is about to explode, I head up to my dormitory to do a little reading before I go to sleep. My Transfiguration textbook is a good one to look over. Maybe one day I can learn to turn into a dragon, if I study diligently enough. 

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Professor Dumbledore stands up as if to make an announcement. "Students, I regret to inform you that last night's fiasco was not without its casualties. First year student Hermione Granger was found dead in the girls' restroom--" 

My fork clatters to the floor in a silence so deep that it echoes throughout the Great Hall. 

"--unfortunately, the school staff arrived on the scene too late to save her. I assure you that we are conducting a thorough investigation into how the troll got into the castle. Our hearts go out to Miss Granger's friends and family..." 

"Excuse me," I murmur. 

I get up from the table and rush off toward the boys' bathroom, and proceed to puke up my breakfast. My whole body feels cold, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. 

Hermione. Dead. I didn't even realize she wasn't at the feast. She's dead, and I can't save her. I can't save her now. I can't go back to yesterday. Why couldn't I have learned about this yesterday? She's dead, and it's all my fault. _My fault._ What kind of a useless time traveler am I if I can't save my friends? 

Surely there must be some way. Some way to go back and save her. There must be. But I don't know what it is. My body turns itself inside out as I continue puking, even though there's no breakfast left to puke up anymore. 

" _Muffliato_ ," says a voice behind me. I didn't even realize someone else had come into the bathroom until I heard Snape's voice casting a privacy spell. "Did something go wrong yesterday, Stormseeker?" 

"I didn't find out until it was too late," I reply. "Abyss, I feel so useless. _I can't go back to yesterday!_ I didn't know... I didn't know..." Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I'm still trembling. "I don't know how to go back to yesterday..." I say in a small voice. 

Professor Snape's firm hand is on my shoulder, steadying me. "Come on," he says gently. "Let's get you back to my office and get some potions in you." 

"Yes, sir," I whisper, and go to follow along after him. My knees feel like I've been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, but I manage to walk all the way there. 

Once down in Snape's office, he pulls out a few potions and hands them to me, and I silently down them one by one without even bothering to ask what they are. But at least they make me stop shaking and feeling so sick. 

"It's all my fault," I whisper. 

"Listen to me, Stormseeker," Snape says firmly. " _You_ did not kill Hermione Granger. You cannot blame yourself for that. If anything, it is our fault, the teachers, for not finding the troll quickly enough." 

"But I could've saved her," I murmur. "Should've saved her..." 

"You can't save everyone, Stormseeker," Snape says. 

"Why not?" I demand. "Why can't I? Why _can't_ I save everyone?" 

"For one thing, you're wallowing rather than trying to do something about it," Snape says. 

"What can I do?" I ask. "I can't go back!" 

"Look," Snape says more gently, sighing. "I know what it's like to lose people you care about. To not be able to do anything about it. You are in a unique position that there might sometimes be something you can do to change it. And I envy you that." 

"There has to be some way I can go back..." I murmur. "If I can't save Hermione, how can I ever save my family?" 

"Perhaps there is a way," Snape says. "And perhaps one day you will find it. But until then, you must go forward and do what you can." 

I take a deep breath. "Yes, sir," I say. "You're right, sir." 

I dare a little bit of hope. There has to be a way, of course. I just have to find it. I have a long way to go yet, and a lot to learn. I make a silent promise to myself that if I ever find a way, I will save Hermione... 

"Are you up for class, or should I write you off for this morning?" Snape asks. 

"I'll go to class," I say, more determinedly than I feel at the moment. 

We head off toward Potions class. The students are already present, and we're running a few minutes late. I can't help but feel a little bad for making Snape late for class, too. 

Snape launches into today's lesson, and I try to pay attention as best as I can. But the seat next to me is painfully empty. With Hermione gone, there's an uneven number of students in the class. Even Neville has a partner. And I'm all alone. If it weren't for Professor Snape, I would feel so completely lost and alone. 

I stumble through making the assigned potion. I don't think I'm doing it right, though. I don't really have an eye for potions. Everything needs to be just right. My potion turns purple rather than orange like it's supposed to. I'm not sure what I even did wrong. 

"Try to pay attention to the instructions, Mr. Potter," Snape says, coming by my table. He waves his wand over my cauldron, and the faulty potion vanishes. At least it didn't explode and hurt someone. "Start over." 

"Yes, sir," I say softly. 

Snape walks away, and I patiently begin the process over again, trying to focus better this time. At least it'll keep my mind off of my grief. 

"What's the matter, Potter?" Draco says tauntingly from behind me. "Can't do your lessons properly without your Mudblood friend holding your hand all the way?" 

My hand freezes in the middle of chopping my ingredients. "Don't talk about Hermione to me, Draco," I warn him, my blood starting to boil. 

"Why not?" Draco says. "She's just a filthy Mudblood. The school's better off without her! I say we should let in more trolls--" 

_Crack-a-boom!_ Rage pushes me over the edge. A small thunderstorm fills the room unbidden. Lightning crackles around me. Every cauldron in the room shatters suddenly, sending shards of pewter and splashes of half-finished potion all over. And Draco gets struck full on by a bolt of electricity. 

I fall to my knees, panting softly and staring at the floor. I don't want to look at my handiwork. I didn't really want to hurt anyone. But I was so angry. So angry. I just lost it. 

"Mr. Crabbe!" Snape is saying. "Take Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing at once." 

I'm shaking again. "I'm sorry," I whisper. 

"Accidental magic," Snape says. "You're just lucky that we were working on a fairly benign potion today, Mr. Potter." 

"I'm sorry," I whisper again. Although I find that I'm not really as sorry as I should be for hurting Draco. The rest of the class didn't deserve the backlash, however. 

"And for Mr. Malfoy's remarks, ten points from Slytherin," Snape says. "Yes, from my own house. I hope this is a lesson to any of you who think that it's _funny_ for people to _die_ , or that they deserve to just because they're different from you." 

"I'm sorry," I murmur a third time. 

"As for you, Mr. Potter," Snape says. "You need to get control over yourself. You'll have detention with me. For the remainder of the year." 

"Yes, sir," I reply automatically, not even bothering to argue for show. 

* * *

The next day, I have my Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape under the guise of a detention. I feel like I really deserve more than a detention, though. But I'm trying not to wallow in my own misplaced guilt. 

"You are fortunate that Mr. Malfoy was not seriously injured, Stormseeker," Snape says. "His family could have caused serious problems for the school and for you if he had been." 

"He was being a right prat," I say bitterly. 

"Indeed he was," Snape says. "Harry Potter's own mother, Lily Evans, was a Muggle-born witch herself, and like Miss Granger, she was one of the best in her class." 

"Was she your friend?" I ask quietly. 

"That's getting a bit personal, Stormseeker," Snape says. 

"Sorry, sir," I say. 

"I'm just glad to say that you are nothing like James Potter," Snape says. "Never mind that, though. After yesterday's outburst, it's all the more clear that you need to learn to control your emotions." 

"Yes, sir," I say glumly. 

"You are a very powerful wizard, Stormseeker, and it will not do for that power to be unleashed unconsciously, without clear intent." 

"I know," I say quietly. "I could have killed someone, and not even just Draco." 

"Indeed," Snape says. "Take some deep breaths, and clear your mind. Be calm, like the still, deep ocean." 

"Calm, like the eye of the storm?" I say softly. 

"If it helps to think of it that way," Snape says. "You do seem to have an association with storms, after all." 

I think of my emotions as a storm raging around me. Anger, grief, hatred, sorrow, guilt, blame, rage, pain... But I am at the center. I'm in the heart of the storm, untouched by the whipping winds. 

"Yes... yes..." Snape says. "You are finally making progress, Stormseeker. It's very fragile still, and you will need a lot of practice at it, but this is the first sign I've seen that you have any real hope of learning this at all." 

"I am the eye of the storm..." I whisper. 

"Keep at this as much as you can," Snape says. "I will continue test you every week. You may return to your dormitory now." 

It's still early, and I was kind of hoping that the lesson would go on a bit longer. It's been difficult enough to face my classmates, after yesterday. Not only with Hermione's death, but with that abrupt display of violent power as well. They're all giving me a wide berth, keeping their distance from me, like they're afraid of me. Even Ron. 

Back in the Gryffindor common room, I spot Ron at one of the tables, doing some homework with Neville, Seamus, and Dean. I go over to them tentatively. Maybe I can still mend things with my friends. Those of them who are left. 

"Hey," I say softly. "Do you guys mind if I join you?" 

The four of them look up at me uneasily, and Dean says, "Didn't you have detention with Snape?" 

"He let me out early," I say. 

"That was nasty of him to give you detention over that," Ron says. "Malfoy was being a right prat." 

"Still, I shouldn't have lost control like that," I say. "I'm sorry about yesterday, guys." 

They're quiet for a few moments, and then Ron shrugs. "Well, nobody but Malfoy was even really hurt," he says. He still sounds a little uneasy, though. 

"And Snape didn't even bother grading our potions, either," Neville says, his voice shaking a little. "Which is just as well, as I think I screwed up again." 

"Say," Dean says. "I don't suppose you can do an encore of that feat? There's a few other people I can think of that should be electrocuted." 

I chuckle softly, and go to sit down with them. I pull out some homework of my own to do. The atmosphere is still a little tense, but I'm still their friend. Just a friend that they're all a little afraid might blow up at any given moment without warning. 

But it still feels wrong to be studying without Hermione at my side.


	7. Cold Christmas

November passes by. My actual birthday is on the last month of the second month of autumn on Lezaria, so I suppose November 30th is the closest equivalent. But that's not when I chronologically turn eleven, due to all the time travel and the fact that I'm on another world entirely with different yearly cycles. I calculated that, and it won't be until March, unless I die an awful lot before then. Time travel is confusing. I feel pedantic for even trying to keep track. 

I hear a little about the investigation about the troll over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, they aren't able to determine anything conclusive. Still, as a result, the wards over the castle are strengthened and the entrances given some extra security. They can't conclusively rule out that it wasn't one of the older students pulling a prank that went horribly wrong, but they don't manage to pin anyone with it. 

I've started reading _Hogwarts, a History_. Hermione was always quoting from it or mentioning something she read it in, so it reminds me of her. I think she would have wanted me to read it. She was always so excited about magic. Everything was new and bright and untarnished. How could any of our classmates have mistaken her raw, unbridled enthusiasm for lording over her knowledge and thinking that she was better than anyone else? It's so clear, in hindsight. I'd like to think that I'm not the only one to realize what we've lost. 

I think the only one who might feel worse about Hermione's death than I is, surprisingly, Lavender Brown. Every time I see her in the common room, there's practically a cloud of guilt hanging over her head. To make matters worse, everyone heard her words after Charms that day, so she's shunned by her own classmates. 

A month after that tragic Halloween, I decide to approach Lavender in the common room. She's sitting alone at a table, doing a bit of studying. Lavender stiffens as I approach, and looks over her shoulder at me. "You want something?" 

"Just wanted to talk," I say. "Mind if I sit?" 

"I can't really stop you," Lavender says. 

I take a seat across from her. "I... er... I just wanted to say... I don't really blame you, you know." 

"Uh-huh," Lavender says dubiously, not looking at me. 

"I just... you know... you couldn't have known what would happen..." I say unsteadily. "You made a mistake. You weren't very nice. But that's all." 

"Is there some point to what you're telling me, Harry Potter?" Lavender says bitingly. 

"I just wanted to say, well... I forgive you," I say. "It's rotten of everyone to act like it was all your fault. And you looked like you could use a friend... you know?" 

Lavender slams her book shut and stands up suddenly. "I don't need your pity, Harry Potter. Good night." She storms off upstairs to her dorm. 

I watch her go with a sigh. Well, I tried. 

I try to spread it around to our classmates that maybe they should ease up on Lavender a bit. They're still a bit afraid of me, but they don't really blame _me_ for what happened that day. If anything, they do think that Draco deserved a good smiting. 

* * *

Christmas is approaching. Another new holiday, for me, and this one seems to be the most important one of the year in this world, since most of the students will be going home for a break from school around Christmas. Professor McGonagall is collecting the names of students who will be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, and I put myself down for it. I have nowhere else to go, after all. 

This is supposed to be a holiday spent exchanging gifts and feasting with family members. I don't even know if my family is still alive, but I prefer not to think about that. It's easier to avoid thinking about that, than Hermione. There's no constant reminders of their absense here. No shadow of guilt and grief hanging quietly over everyone's heads. It's my own private worry, and as such, I can leave it as a tiny shadow in the back of my mind instead. 

So. I don't have any family here, but perhaps I should get gifts for my friends. I don't really know what's traditional to give. What's appropriate to give. I would hate to inadvertently offend someone by giving them something inappropriate. Being unfamiliar with the social customs and not wanting to embarrass myself, I decide to take a few minutes to as Professor Snape about it at our last "detention" before the holiday break. 

"Professor," I say. "I've never celebrated Christmas before. What sort of presents should I get for my friends? I... er... don't know what would be appropriate, or anything." 

"I see," Snape says. "Who were you thinking of giving presents to?" 

"Well... there's Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, of course. I should probably get something for Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, too... I don't know the girls in my year very well. And, er, I'd like to get something for you and Professor Dumbledore, too. You've both done a lot for me... Uh, it's not inappropriate to mention that you want to get someone a gift, is it?" 

I'd have considered getting Draco something, at one point. Before Halloween. Before the words that shattered any possibility of friendship or trust between us. Now, it's all I can do to avoid hexing him whenever I see him. It's going to be a very long time before I can forgive Draco. If ever. 

Snape smirks at me. "Relax, Stormseeker. There's no need to be so nervous about it. I imagine that none of your friends, nor Professor Dumbledore, would think it strange to get them anything more than sweets, if you can't think of anything else." 

"And what about you, sir?" I ask. "What would you like?" 

"You have no need to get me anything, Stormseeker," Snape says. "Considering I'm already getting your own blood every week, what more could I ask for?" He chuckles softly. "If you really wish to do something for me, I would suggest that you attempt to apply yourself more at Potions." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'm trying, I really am. It's just hard for me. But I'll keep at it." 

"Are you more complacent about learning Potions because you don't believe it will be useful when you return to your home world?" Snape asks. 

"No!" I reply immediately, then admit, "Well, maybe a bit." 

"While some potions may require substances found only on this world," Snape says, "the principles of potion creation will doubtless remain the same. Even if Lezaria has radically different flora and fauna. Does no one on your world make potions?" 

"Er," I say. "Well, my Aunt Thelsa does. And she's hardly the only one..." 

"Also, even if some of the things you learn may not be useful there, you are _here_ at the moment," Snape says. "How long do you intend on staying here?" 

"Until I get it right," I say quietly. 

"You've already seen how useful some potions can be, have you not?" Snape says. 

I nod in agreement. "This is true. I'll admit that I kind of dismissed them a bit at first, since I was more focused on spells with immediate effects, for combat and utility and whatnot. But there's a point to that. I'm better with magic that depends more upon intent... even if my wand movements are a little off, I can usually get something close to what I meant." 

"You rely overly much on your emotions to direct your magic," Snape says. "And while this is a suitable practice for some forms of magic, I would suggest that you attempt to employ your Occlumency more when working on potions to help you focus." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'll try." 

* * *

I wonder what Hermione would have gotten us all, if she were alive. Probably books, I would imagine. She did so love her books. To that end, in addition to the candy that I send to Ron and Neville from myself, I also owl-order them each a book "in memory of Hermione". A copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for Ron, and a book about plants with tips for their use in potion making for Neville. And to somewhat disguise the fact that they're from me, and to have something else to remember her by myself, I send _myself_ a different book on potion-making tips. Perhaps Professor Snape will appreciate both Neville and I doing better in Potions. 

Ron is also staying at Hogwarts this Christmas, surprisingly. I wonder why? He's got such a big, wonderful family. Is he staying behind just to keep me company, so that I'm not in our dorm room all alone? I'd really rather he not sacrifice his chance to spend time with his family for my sake. I don't mind being alone. Still, these thoughts aside, I find myself grateful for the company nonetheless. But no, as it turns out, his brothers are staying as well, since his parents are going to Romania to visit his brother Charlie. I feel a little better about it then. 

Christmas morning dawns, and Ron and I head down to the common room to find brightly-wrapped presents waiting for us. 

"Happy Christmas," Ron says cheerfully. 

"You, too," I say. "I wonder what I got?" 

We set in at opening our presents. A small package for me on top turns out to be a flute, from Hagrid. Aw, that was nice of him, considering I hadn't thought to get him anything. I feel a little bad about that. Nor for Mrs. Weasley, who sent me a box of homemade fudge. I look over at Ron, who has opened up his Chocolate Frogs from me, and a hand-knitted maroon sweater from his mother. 

"What's this?" Ron murmurs, holding up a box. "In memory of Hermione? I wonder who sent that?" He smiles a little upon seeing what it is. 

"I got one, too," I say, showing him the potion book I bought myself. 

"I wish she were still here," Ron says quietly. "So many of us were right rotten to her, and then suddenly, she's gone..." 

"Yeah," I say softly. "But... they're never really gone, so long as we remember..." And it doesn't hurt to have time travel powers that might someday be useful in going back to do things differently. But I keep that part to myself. 

"What's in your last package?" Ron says, poking to a lumpy, anonymous present. 

"Let's see," I say, picking it up and tearing it open. Something flowing and silvery falls out and pools in my lap, and I see that it's a shimmering cloth. 

"It couldn't be!" Ron exclaims. "An invisibility cloak? Those are supposed to be really rare and valuable." 

"There's a note," I say. "It used to belong to my father. Neat." I do hope that it's from Dumbledore, as I'd feel a little bad about it otherwise. Of course, if I were actually Harry Potter, I should be annoyed about someone giving me back my own inheritance in the guise of Christmas presents. As it is, though, I don't really care, as something like this could be really useful. 

"Try it on!" Ron encourages me. 

I slip the silvery cloak about my body. "Am I invisible, Ron?" I ask. 

"You sure are!" Ron says. "That's wicked! I'd give anything for one of these. Anything!" 

"Be careful what you say," I tell him. "Anything is an awfully broad subject." I smirk at him, pulling off the cloak and folding it up to hide in my robes. I'd rather not advertise that I have it, but it would be a useful thing to have on hand if needed. 

"Well, yeah, I suppose," Ron says, looking a little deflated. 

I chuckle at him and laugh off the seriousness for the moment. "Let's go have some fun in the snow while we can, shall we?" 

This evening, a Christmas feast is laid out in the Great Hall for the much smaller than usual bunch of people at the castle. There's completely different sorts of food from the Halloween feast. There's turkey, and mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry sauce... Does every holiday in this world have its own special traditional menu? The only real holiday we celebrated back home was the Festival of Lights, in midsummer when the new year turned over. I suppose this one is something like that, although their new year falls in winter rather than summer, which I find to be rather strange. 

After everyone else has gone to bed, I decide to take my new cloak and explore the castle a bit. I'd like to see if there's anything interesting that I might find. There are no doubt many secrets tucked away in such a big and magical place as this, just waiting to be found. Preferably, most of them won't be trying to eat me, too. Like a ghost, I drift through the castle. I wish it were a little brighter, though, but seeing as it _is_ the middle of the night, I can't really expect any differently. 

I briefly consider sneaking into the Restricted Section of the school library, but dismiss that notion quickly. I know perfectly well that I'm not yet ready for more advanced and dangerous forms of magic. Perhaps another time, that might be worth more consideration. 

I come upon what appears to be an unused classroom. Standing off to one side, there's a strange, ornate mirror. I wonder what it's doing here? Maybe somebody just wanted to use this empty space as storage, or something. Curious, I go over to take a look. 

There are people in the mirror. I jump in startlement when I see, and look behind me uneasily, but there's nobody in the room with me. I take off my cloak and get a good look at it. Hermione is standing at my side, and I have an arm over her shoulders in a fond, protective gesture. Behind me, I see my family, alive and well. Hawthorne and Keli, and my mom, and Aunt Thelsa, the twins Helga and Hilda, even my great-grandfather Silver is there. The sight almost brings tears to my eyes. What sort of magic is this? Does this mirror show ghosts, or memories of people who are gone? Or what? 

And yet, there's more to it than that. Upon closer inspection, I see that the image of me crackles with electricity. My eyes seem to be glowing. I get the impression of great power within me, and I don't understand. I would dearly love to study this magical artifact more closely and unlock its secrets, learn what it shows and why, and discover how it works. 

I don't know how long I'm left gazing into the mirror, but after a while, I pull myself away and return to my dormitory. It wouldn't do to be sleeping past noon. 

* * *

"Hey, Ron," I say the next morning. "I found something completely awesome last night with my cloak. Want to go see it?" 

"Sure!" Ron says. "Why didn't you wake me up?" 

"Didn't want to wind up sleeping all day," I say. "Shall we go tonight after curfew?" 

"Okay," Ron says. 

In the evening, I head out again with Ron. At least both of us are small enough still to fit underneath my invisibility cloak. That might get more difficult as we grow up, but for now, it's not a problem. I show him the way back to the unused classroom where the strange mirror is being kept. 

"There it is," I whisper, pulling off the cloak. I don't think anyone's close enough to overhear us at the moment, as I didn't hear any trace of Filch nearby, but I'm compelled to be quiet anyway. "Go on. Take a look." 

Ron steps forward and peers into the magic mirror. "Whoa! I see myself winning the House Cup! And the Quidditch Cup! And I'm Head Boy! And the Quidditch captain!" 

I frown deeply. "That doesn't make any sense. It showed me something completely different." 

"Do you suppose it shows the future?" Ron wonders. 

"No," I reply. "Ron, it showed me Hermione, and my family..." 

"Oh..." Ron says quietly. 

While Ron spends a few minutes staring at it himself, I take a closer look at the mirror. There's an inscription on it, but it's in no language I understand. And I really wish I knew more about identifying and analyzing the enchantments upon things. Something else that will need to wait, I suppose. I have so much yet to learn, but I must be patient. I'm a Time Mage, after all. Time is on my side. 

"Ron?" I say quietly. "Maybe we should go now. We don't want Filch or Mrs. Norris to find us." 

"Just a few more minutes, alright?" Ron says. 

I look at him with a touch of concern, wondering if he might stare at this thing all night if given the opportunity. "Ron!" I hiss. "I think I hear Mrs. Norris!" I grab his arm and pull him away from the mirror, throwing the cloak over us again. 

"I don't hear anything," Ron murmurs. 

"Shhh," I say. We sneak back toward the Gryffindor common room again and get inside, thankfully without alerting anyone to our presence. The two of us are back safely in our dormitory before either of us speaks again. 

"Uh... thanks," Ron says. "I didn't think staring into that mirror would be so... captivating. It's a dangerous thing. I could've sat there looking at it all night." 

"I don't understand what that mirror is supposed to be showing," I say. "For me, I had thought it might be showing me ghosts or something, but for you, it's showing what might well wind up being the future." Although, am I so certain that what it showed me wasn't the future as well? _My_ future, at any rate. 

"Well, I suppose I can think happy thoughts about it, anyway," Ron says. "I'm going to bed." 

* * *

I decide to head out to examine the mirror once again the next night. Maybe I can get a little closer to unraveling this mystery. At least this one is a mystery that isn't inclined to try to rip my face off, and I have the presence of mind to be able to avoid staring into it enraptured for hours on end. I think Professor Snape's Occlumency lessons have been helping a little with that. I'm able to focus better and think more clearly, and this is definitely a good thing, even if I can't yet actually succeed in keeping Snape out of my mind. 

I ignore the image presented to me in the mirror and examine the frame and the inscription, as well as looking around the back a bit. Hmm... the inscription... Something seems oddly familiar about it, come to think. Then it dawns on me. It's Flylish! Kind of. Or as somebody sensible might say, Kalorese written backwards. Oh, right, they call it English in this world, and spell things a little funny, but it's still pretty much the same language. It's the spaces in the wrong places that threw me off about the inscription at first. 

"I show not your face but your heart's desire?" I murmur aloud, translating the inscription finally. That would explain it. It doesn't actually show the future, but what you _wish_ to happen, no matter how implausible it might be. 

"Back again, my boy?" says a voice behind me. Not Filch, but Dumbledore. I should have expected as much. 

"Good evening, Professor," I say. "Was it you who gave me this cloak?" 

"Indeed it was," Dumbledore says. "I thought you might find it useful, and you were the best possible person that it could go to." 

"Thank you, sir," I say, bowing to him graciously. "Did you like my present as well?" 

"I was always rather fond of Chocolate Frogs," Dumbledore says. "Although, three of the cards inside were of me!" He chuckles softly in amusement. "I see you, like many before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised." 

"Delights?" I say, chuckling myself. "I'd say it's rather like a pitcher plant, and the only thing it's missing is a means to digest you once it has snared you in." 

"Wise of you to recognize the danger in it," Dumbledore says. "Men have wasted away gazing upon the images that it shows to them." 

"I didn't come back to stare into it, though," I say. "I wanted to figure it out, understand it, discover how it works. I'm a long way off from being able to decipher magic of this level, though." 

"I see," Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling. "Nonetheless, the mirror will be moved to a more secure location after tonight. I would advise not seeking it out again." 

"I wasn't planning on it," I say. "I figured out what it shows, but I'm going to need years of magical training if I want any hope of unraveling more than that." 

"And what did you learn, my dear boy?" Dumbledore says. 

"It shows the thing you want most," I say. "No matter if it's impossible. Your heart's desire... And I guess some people get more caught up in dreams than in reality." 

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says. 

I look at the floor. "I wouldn't have asked Ron what he saw if I realized that was what it did. And I'm not going to ask you, either." 

"Just as well, my boy," Dumbledore says lightly. "I'd have just told you that I see myself holding a pair of fuzzy wool socks. One can never have enough socks, after all." I look up at him and see his eyes twinkling at me again. "Now, why don't you put that cloak back on and run along back to bed?" 

"Yes, sir," I say, smiling faintly at him.


	8. Norbert

It would figure that, on the morning of the very day that I'd calculated that I would chronologically turn eleven years old, I would fall down a staircase and break my neck. 

I wake up again with a sigh and rub my eyes. I haven't normally been quite so clumsy, but the gravity still catches me by surprise on occasion. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. I've been here for nine months, after all. At least it was still early in the morning, before breakfast. I won't need to dig into the box of Wideye Potions that Professor Snape kindly provided me. I haven't actually died a lot lately, which I'm sure he'll appreciate, so today's incident is a little embarrassing. 

I get cleaned up again, get dressed, and head out again, more cautiously this time. I glance around as I approach the fatal staircase in question. Nothing seems amiss. A handful of students are heading to breakfast, and I think I spot Professor Quirrell's purple turban nearby. I go to head down the stairs, one step at a time, taking care not to rush and trip. And yet, about five steps down, something invisible seems to snag my leg, and I go tumbling. I try to catch myself or grab the railing, but it's no use. 

This time, I land in such a way that I don't instantly snap my neck. I almost wish I had, though, considering that I hurt all over. I'll have bruises at the very least, and that's assuming that nothing is broken. Thankfully there was nobody else on the stairs at the time. 

"Harry!" Neville says, rushing up to me. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm alive," I say with a groan. "Help me to the hospital wing, will you, Neville?" 

Neville puts an arm around me and helps me to my feet. Well, my legs aren't broken, at least. "Usually it's me who's having accidents," Neville comments. 

"Hey, I'm almost as bad as you sometimes," I say, laughing softly, then immediately regretting it. Laughing hurts. "We can be the Clumsy Twins." 

Once at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey gives me a look over, and gets some potions into me. "Three broken ribs. Mr. Potter, you're lucky you didn't break your neck!" 

"I think I don't really care much for luck," I say dryly. I think, in addition to my time travel powers, I must be a bad luck magnet, as well. Either that or they make me reckless, but it's not like I was exactly being reckless this time! 

"Run along to breakfast now, Mr. Longbottom," Madam Pomfrey says. "And thank you for bringing Mr. Potter to me." 

She insists on keeping me in here through breakfast, and I fear she'll make me stay here all day. "But Madam Pomfrey," I say. "I want to go to class! I've got Potions today, and I'm bad enough at that as it is!" I'm getting a little better, though. 

"You could have been seriously hurt, you realize," Madam Pomfrey says. 

"I know," I say. Abyss, do I know. I could have been _killed_. 

"But I see no reason to keep you any longer," Madam Pomfrey says. "Go on, now." 

Thanks to her nagging, not only did I miss breakfast, but I'm almost fifteen minutes late to Potions as well. Professor Snape has already started in on today's lecture, and stops to give me an eye as I come in. 

"Finally cared to join us, Mr. Potter?" Snape says. 

"Sorry, sir," I reply. "I was in the hospital wing." 

"He fell down a staircase," Neville supplies helpfully in a small voice. 

"I see," Snape says. "Take your seat and we shall continue. I trust that you have read the material already, so I need not repeat myself." 

"Yes, sir," I say sheepishly. 

* * *

The first weekend of April, Ron, Neville, and I are in the library studying, and we spot Hagrid there, of all people. I curiously peer over to see what he's up to, and notice that he's reading _From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide_. Well, that's certainly worthwhile reading material! I wonder why he's looking it up. I go over to approach him, and he practically jumps when he spots me at his elbow. 

"Don't sneak up on someone like that!" Hagrid says. 

"Sorry," I say, grinning faintly. "I just wanted to see what you were up to. Dragons are awesome, aren't they?" 

"Shhh!" Hagrid says. Oh, now I know he's up to something. He's always terrible at keeping a secret. 

"Sorry!" I say again, more quietly, and grinning even more broadly. "So what're you up to?" 

"Let's not talk here," Hagrid says. "Meet me out at my hut if you really want to know." 

After he's out of earshot, Ron whispers to me, "You don't suppose he's going to try to raise a dragon himself, is he?" 

"This _is_ Hagrid," I point out. "Shall we go see what he's up to?" 

"Let's," Neville says. 

We head downstairs and out across to Hagrid's hut, knock on the door, and head inside. It's stifling hot in here, and all the curtains are closed. Yeah, he's definitely hiding something. It's a fairly warm day out, but he's got a blazing fire going. And in the middle of the fire, there's a large round object. 

"Good day, kids," Hagrid greets us a little uneasily. 

"Hello, Hagrid," I say. "So, is this it?" I point to the black ball in the fire. 

"Whoa," Ron says. "Is that a dragon egg?" 

"Er," Hagrid says. "Yeah, yeah it is." 

"That's awesome!" I say. "Where'd you get a dragon egg?" 

"Won it in a game of cards down at the Hog's Head," Hagrid says. 

"What are you going to do with it when it hatches?" Neville wonders. 

"I've been doing some reading on the subject," Hagrid says. "How to feed them and care for them and all." 

"Can I help?" I say eagerly. "I love dragons!" 

"But dragons grow fast," Ron says. "You won't be able to keep it in the house. And since they're illegal, you don't want someone who'll turn you in to catch you with it." 

"I'll keep it out in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid says. "Lots of critters out there." 

I frown a little. I don't like keeping secrets from Dumbledore and Snape. But, it's a dragon! This will be amazing! And what harm could it do? And Dumbledore practically encouraged me to sneak around and break rules when he gave me the invisibility cloak. Obviously, he doesn't think all the rules apply to me. 

"I suppose," Ron says. 

"This'll be great!" I say, beaming. 

"If you lot want to raise a dragon, have at it," Neville says. "As for me, I don't fancy getting my fingers bitten off!" 

"So what do baby dragons eat, anyway?" I wonder. 

* * *

At breakfast one morning, Solomon flies in and drops me a note from Hagrid, stating only, "It's hatching." I'm practically bouncing with excitement. I'm going to get to see a dragon hatch! 

"Come on," I say to Ron and Neville. "Let's just cut class and head on out there right now!" 

"But we have Herbology this morning," Neville protests. 

"Aw, you can look at plants anytime," I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. "How often will you get to see a _dragon_ hatch? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!" 

"Quiet!" Ron hisses. "I think Malfoy might've heard you." 

"Besides," Neville says. "We'll get in all sorts of trouble if we're caught skiving off class. We can head out at break." 

Reluctantly, I head off to Herbology with them. However, the minute we get out of class, I lead the way straight over to Hagrid's hut. I knock, and say, "It's us, Hagrid." 

We head inside, and Hagrid says, "You're just in time." 

The egg is cracked and shaking, and it looks like something is about to emerge. There's a soft clicking sound coming from inside, and bits of eggshell are starting to break off. Then, the egg breaks apart, and a small creature clumsily emerges. It's a beautiful, adorable baby, with slick black wings and enormous golden eyes. 

"Isn't it gorgeous?" I say, reaching out to lightly stroke the hatchling. 

Neville, keeping his distance, glances at the window. "Uh, I think I saw Malfoy out there." 

"Crap," I say. "You don't think he saw, do you?" 

"Dunno," Neville says. "With our luck? I bet he did." 

"I really hate luck," I comment. I sigh, and say, "Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose. He'll either tell or he won't, but if he hasn't told anyone by the time we catch up to him next, we can either bribe him or threaten him if he snitches." 

"But he's always got those two huge thugs with him," Neville says. 

"I'm not scared of Crabbe and Goyle," I say dryly. 

Ron tries to touch the little dragon, but it snaps at him and almost bites him, making him shy away. "So," Ron says, giving the hatchling some distance. "What are you going to call him?" 

"I was thinking 'Norbert'," Hagrid says. 

The baby dragon practically cooes under my touch, rubbing up against me in a friendly way. "Aw, I'm a daddy!" I say, laughing softly. I'm less than worried about what Draco might do. This is worth a year of detentions. 

I manage to catch Draco after lunch in the corridors. I'm alone at the moment, but so is he. A stroke of luck. I pull him aside into an empty classroom. 

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Draco demands. 

"Talking to you," I say. "In private." 

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco asks. 

"What did you see, earlier?" I ask. 

"Hah," Draco says. "I know you've got a dragon out there! What is that big oaf thinking, trying to raise a _dragon_ in a wooden hut?" 

I nod. I thought as much. "Alright, then. What do you want?" 

"What do you mean?" Draco says. 

"For your silence," I say. 

"Oh?" Draco says, arching an eyebrow. 

"I'm trying to bribe you, damn it," I say. 

"Hah!" Draco says. "A Gryffindor, resorting to bribery? I'd have thought you'd have had more foolish _principles_." 

I snort softly. "I don't have any principles, Draco, and I'm not above bribery. I doubt you'd need _money_ or anything, after all, but I'm sure you can think of something that would be worth your silence." 

"Oh, this is too funny," Draco says, laughing. "Did losing your pet Mudblood make you lose your nerve?" 

My blood boils. I force myself to stay calm. I am the eye of the storm. I'm not going to let him get to me. "Don't make me reconsider just hexing you, Draco," I say dangerously. "Make me an offer, before I change my mind." 

"Still a sore spot, huh?" Draco says. "Alright, alright. Tell you what. I'm feeling gracious today. I'll keep my mouth shut, but you'll owe me... a _favor_." 

"A favor," I repeat. 

"And I can call that in whenever I want," Draco says. "Anything I want." 

"Anything is an awfully broad subject," I say. 

"And I can get you and your friends _arrested_ if you refuse," Draco says. 

"Very well," I say. "A favor. I agree to your terms." 

Draco holds out his hand, and we shake on it. He seems entirely too gleeful about the prospect, which makes me more than a little uneasy. I dread to think what Draco might ask of me in the future. I wonder what the penalties for illegal possession of a dragon really are? I don't think I care to find out. I want to keep Norbert for myself. I don't want anyone to take him away from me. Which, even if we're let off with a fine or something, they no doubt would do. 

* * *

I wind up spending every moment of my free time out with Hagrid and Norbert. Ron comes along a lot as well, and Neville occasionally joins us, too, but I'm the one who's out there almost all the time. If I didn't have an invisibility cloak, I'd be worried that someone would realize I'm spending way too much time at Hagrid's hut lately. 

Norbert is growing extremely rapidly. He was such a cute little thing at first. And while he's still cute, after a couple weeks, we have to move him out to the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid doesn't like it, thinking it'll be too cold for him, but there's not much else we can do. We can hardly keep him in the hut forever. He'll wind up getting too big to get him out the door if we wait too long to move him. And while there might be spells to get around that, there's still the very real possibility of Norbert accidentally burning down Hagrid's hut, too. 

Ron comes along with me the night we're moving Norbert to the forest. He's only slightly less afraid of getting bitten than Neville. Strangely, I'm the only one the dragon has never tried to bite. Maybe he recognizes me as kin, or something. I don't know. In the end, it takes all three of us to manage it, with Ron guiding us, Hagrid hauling the dragon, and me trying to keep Norbert calm along the way. 

"Here you go, Norbert," Hagrid says. "Your new home. Don't worry, boy. Mommy and Daddy will visit you as much as we can. We'll bring plenty of food!" 

We turn to leave, and Norbert tries to follow after us. "No, Norbert," I say firmly. "You have to stay here. Sorry. Daddy will be back, though. Stay here for Daddy, alright?" 

Norbert makes a dejected squeaking sound, and I have to feel bad about leaving him out here all by himself. But eventually, he stays put and lets us leave. Hagrid returns to his head and bids us good night, and Ron and I head back into the castle. 

As we reach the seventh floor, we come face to face with Filch, and it dawns on me in dread. We left the invisbility cloak back in Hagrid's hut. Crap. 

"Well, well," Filch says. "Aren't we in trouble now?" 

"Yes, Mr. Filch," I say sheepishly, looking at the floor. 

"Bugger all," Ron mutters. 

Filch takes us both down to Professor McGonagall's office, where we sit fidgeting and waiting for her to come. I feel particularly bad about him having to wake her up at this hour. What time _is_ it, anyway? Wildly, I try to think up some excuse that she might actually believe. Sadly, I can't think of anything. 

I glance to Ron, and the look on my face must say everything, since he murmurs, "I've got nothing, too." 

Professor McGonagall finally appears, looking as though she might be about to breathe fire on us herself. I cringe a little inwardly, but try to make myself to stay calm. I am the eye of the storm. I won't be able to get anyone to listen to _anything_ if I can't keep my emotions under rein. 

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall exclaims. "It's one o'clock in the morning. What are the two of you doing wandering around the castle at this hour? Explain yourselves." 

"You're giving us a chance to explain ourselves?" I say with a touch of surprise. "I'd have thought you'd have just given us detention and been done with it!" 

"If, by some unlikely chance, you have some legitimate excuse for being out of bed at such an hour, I'd like to hear it," McGonagall says. 

"Well, in that case," I say. "I was attempting to prove that the House Cup is a waste of time and that we should be focusing on our studies rather than worrying about points. Also, I was kind of hoping to get detention with someone other than Professor Snape. I've been stuck with detention with him for the whole year, and it would be nice to have to do something else for a change." 

"Your sarcasm does you no credit, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. 

"Seriously," I say. "Do you have any idea how many times we must have circled the castle before running across Filch? He clearly must be slacking if it took him until one in the morning to find us. It's not like we were even exactly hiding, after all." 

"Very well," McGonagall says. "I'll give you the detention you've clearly gone out of your way to earn, but I see no need to punish the rest of your house for your attempts at losing points. You've expressed your disdain for the house points system on numerous occasions, so I doubt that would dissuade you anyway." 

"Aw, man," I say. "Can't we even lose a single point? Come on." 

" _No_ , Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "Now, back to bed with you both!" 

"Okay, okay," I say, sighing. "And sorry that Filch had to wake you up." 

Ron and I return to our common room. We barely manage to make it inside before Ron falls over laughing. "I can't believe you managed to pull that off!" Ron says. 

"Me, either," I say. "I was just talking out of my ass. I thought we were going to lose points and get detention anyway, so I figured I might as well just come out and ask for them rather than offering an excuse, as it could hardly get any worse. I didn't think she'd actually _buy it_." 

"Too bad she didn't let us off of detention, too," Ron says. 

"Let's take what we can get," I say. "And at least we just left the cloak with Hagrid, rather than someplace somebody else might find it. We can go back and get it tomorrow." 

"Yeah," Ron says. "Let's get to bed. I'm beat." 

* * *

After retrieving the invisibility cloak from Hagrid, I continue to sneak out into the Forbidden Forest to visit Norbert, bringing food whenever I get the chance. I'm a lot more careful about it, now. I'll take my upcoming detention as a punishment for getting careless. 

One evening, while heading out to the forest after dinner, I spot a hooded figure coming out of the castle and approaching the forest himself. I dare to take a closer look, protected by my cloak, and realize that it's Professor Snape! What's he doing? Maybe he's going to collect some ingredients for potions, or something. Still, my curiosity gets the better of me, so I follow along after him, feeling a little guilty about it nonetheless. 

Snape comes to a dark clearing, but he's not alone. Professor Quirrell is with him. What's going on? Things just get stranger. Quietly, I creep closer to hear what they're saying. 

"I d-d-don't know why you wanted to meet me out here, of all p-places," Quirrell says. 

"I thought it best that we keep this business private, Quirrell," Snape says coldly. 

"B-But the students aren't even supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell says. Philosopher's Stone? Is that what's being hidden in the school? I wonder what that might be. 

Snape shakes his head, and says, "Have you figured out how to get past Hagrid's beast yet, Quirrell?" 

"W-What?" Quirrell says. "I w-w-would never!" 

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape says. 

"What are you t-t-talking about?" Quirrell says. 

"Oh, I think you know perfectly well what I mean," Snape says. "There's no use in feigning ignorance, although you're so good at that." 

"I d-d-don't..." Quirrell says. Listening to his stutter is really starting to irritate me, considering I stopped paying much attention to what he says in Defense Against the Dark Arts class months ago. 

Snape is obviously getting impatient with it as well. "Enough," he says. "I've made my point, I think. We'll have another little chat later. Think things over, Quirrell. Decide where your loyalties really lie. Decide whether you really want to do this." 

Snape turns and leaves the forest, striding swiftly away, leaving Quirrell staring and stammering behind him. Well, that was interesting. Not what I came for, but very interesting. I trust Snape completely, of course, so obviously this means that Quirrell's loyalties are questionable somehow. I would have never thought it of him, but perhaps there's more to him than meets the eye. 

But for now, there are steaks oozing sauce in my robes. I go out for my scheduled meeting with Norbert. I'll need to give him a good scratch to apologize for being late.


	9. Centaurs and Unicorns

"Snape was talking to Professor Quirrell?" Ron says, raising an eyebrow. 

"What's more, it sounded like Snape was threatening him," I say. 

"You know what this means, don't you?" Neville says. 

"Of course," I say. "Obviously, this means Quirrell is evil." The two of them look at me as if I've gone completely mental. "What?" 

"You're joking, right?" Ron says. "The twins have been rubbing off on you?" 

"I'm serious, Ron!" I say. "I know Snape, and I trust him. There's no way that he's evil!" 

"I think most of Gryffindor would beg to differ with that," Neville comments. "He's scary! Whenever we're in Potions, he just looks at me and I clam up, and forget what I'm doing! And then he mocks me and takes points away." 

"Okay, so he's not exactly the nicest person sometimes," I say. "But he's not evil!" 

Ron and Neville don't look the least bit convinced of that. "I think Snape must be trying to get the Philosopher's Stone," Ron says. 

"Do you know what a Philosopher's Stone is?" I ask. 

"I think I might have heard of it before, but I'm not sure," Ron says. 

"Like, an old legend or something," Neville suggests. "Dunno." 

"Hmm," I say. "Maybe we'll be able to find more information in the library. We can see if they have any books on magical gemstones or the like." 

In deference to their suspicions, I don't mention that I had been intending on asking Snape himself about the conversation at our next Occlumency lesson. Perhaps I'll just keep that quiet, instead. I still really don't think that Snape is evil or anything, but there's just enough niggling doubt to wonder if mine and Dumbledore's trust in him might not be misplaced. 

"If this thing is really as rare and valuable as suggested, why is it being kept here at Hogwarts?" Ron wonders. 

"Safest place there is besides Gringotts?" Neville suggests. 

"Somehow I doubt that," I say darkly. "From what I've seen, Hogwarts isn't even particularly safe." 

They both look to the floor. They know what I'm thinking. Nothing needs to be said. 

* * *

The day of our detention arrives. Nobody told us what would be expected of us until Filch takes us out to Hagrid's hut after sunset. I have to scratch my head a bit and look around as Hagrid meets us. 

"They're sending us into the Forbidden Forest, at night mind you, as punishment for being out of bed?" I say incredulously. 

"I suppose it's just as well that they don't know you've been sneaking into the Forbidden Forest every night for like a month," Ron says dryly. 

"Hello, boys," Hagrid says in greeting. "Ready to get started? This will be dangerous, so you better keep close to me and keep an eye out." He's got that big dog Fang along, so this must be serious. 

"This is ridiculous," Ron mutters. "They're sending first years out into the Forbidden Forest! At night! And it's a full moon, too, on top of that." 

"Don't worry," Hagrid says. "You'll be safe, so long as you've got me and Fang with you. Come along now, boys." 

"Full moon?" I say, raising an eyebrow at Ron, then looking to Hagrid. "Are there really werewolves out in this forest?" 

"Don't you worry none about that, either," Hagrid says. He leads us off into the forest. A ways in, he points at something silvery spotting the ground. "See that? Unicorn blood. I found one dead last week, and it looks like another one is hurt, too." 

"What would hurt a unicorn?" Ron wonders. 

"That wouldn't be the cause of a small dragon, by chance, would it?" I say, a little uneasily. 

"No, no," Hagrid says. "Wasn't Norbert that did that, that much is for sure. Besides, unicorns are quick and powerful magical beasts. A dragon wouldn't be fast enough, especially one that's still so young and clumsy." 

The forest is quiet tonight. Too quiet. It's making my skin crawl, and I shudder involuntarily. There's more signs of silver blood along the trail, and we continue following it deeper into the forest. Then, there's a sound of something brushing through leaves nearby, and Hagrid nocks a bolt into his crossbow, preparing to fire. 

"There's something out here," Hagrid says quietly. "Something that shouldn't be here. Come out! Out where I can see you! I'm warning you, I'm armed!" 

Out into the clearing before us strides a chestnut centaur. I raise an eyebrow. Surely a centaur wouldn't be killing unicorns, would he? 

"Oh, it's just you, Ronan," Hagrid says. "Sorry about that. Can't be too careful." 

"Good evening, Hagrid," Ronan says. "And who is this with you?" 

"I'm Harry Potter," I say. "And this is my friend, Ron Weasley. We're students at Hogwarts. It's a pleasure to meet you." I bow toward him. 

"Students," Ronan says. "I see." He looks up and stares at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight." 

"Um," I stammer, uncertain what to say to that. I _really_ haven't been paying much attention in Astronomy class. Is Mars a star? What's that supposed to mean? 

"Ronan," Hagrid says. "We're looking for a unicorn that's been injured. Have you seen it, by chance?" 

"The innocent are always the first victims," Ronan says. "So it has always been." 

"But have you seen anything, Ronan?" Hagrid says. "Anything unusual?" 

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeats unhelpfully. "Unusually bright." 

"That doesn't answer his question," I interject. "We could stand here all night going on about Mars! He wanted to know if you've seen anything unusual _in the forest_ , not up in the sky!" 

Ronan pauses for a long moment, and then replies, "The forest hides many secrets." 

Ron mutters something about bloody centaurs. There's a movement in the trees behind Ronan, and another centaur emerges into the clearing, this one black. 

"Evening, Bane," Hagrid says. "I don't suppose you've seen anything odd lately, either?" 

Bane also looks to the sky, and says, "Mars is bright tonight." 

"Argh!" I exclaim. "What's the big deal about Mars, anyway? What's that even supposed to mean?" I take a deep breath and rub my temples, trying to calm myself. I shouldn't let them get to me. I've never met a centaur before, and after this, I'm not sure I'm too eager to meet another one. 

"Mars is a symbol of war," Ron supplies helpfully. 

"What, you mean _you_ pay attention in Astronomy?" I say, smirking at Ron. "I don't know why it's even a requirement. I don't care about what's going on in the sky." 

"You do not learn much at your school, do you?" Ronan comments. 

I sigh in frustration, and Hagrid says, "Well, let us know if you see anything. We'll be off, then." Once we're out of earshot, Hagrid comments, "Never try to get a straight answer out of a centaur. They don't care about anything closer than the moon." 

"Are they all like that?" I wonder. 

"Eh, I imagine they think they're being clear as day," Hagrid says. "Or as clear as they care to let on to our kind, anyway." 

We continue on. That unicorn looks to have lost a lot of blood. I have my doubts that we'll be finding the poor thing still alive. Sure enough, ahead in a clearing, there's a gorgeous white equine form laying sprawled out on the ground, unmoving. Maybe if those damned centaurs hadn't been so intent upon babbling on about Mars, we could have found it sooner. 

I approach the unicorn impulsively, to take a closer look at the poor creature and see what might have wounded it. But then, there's something moving nearby. A cloaked and hooded figure in the darkness. It reminds me of Sardill. It spots me, and we stare at one another, frozen for one terrifying moment. 

And then it raises a hand, and I spot the wand in its hand for one fleeting moment before darkness surrounds me. Pain overtakes me. I'm choking. I can't breathe. I try to cry out to Hagrid to save me, but nothing comes out. I collapse. 

* * *

I wake, rubbing my throat for a moment. Much appreciated protection there, Hagrid. I sigh and dig out one of Snape's Wideye potions. I'm going to need it to get through today again. I kind of wish that this had been a weekend. I don't look forward to sitting through classes again. Oh well, no help for it. 

After breakfast, I go to Filch with the note stating our detention at eleven o'clock. "I don't suppose we could have our detention a little earlier, by any chance?" 

"You didn't complain about being up late when you were wandering around the castle, did you?" Filch retorts. 

"I'm not complaining," I say. "I'm just eager to spend more time in detention." 

"So break a few more rules," Filch says. "If you push it enough, perhaps I can convince Dumbledore to let me pull out the chains and thumbscrews for you." 

That failing, I just grab Ron and preemptively head out to Hagrid's hut after dinner. Nobody can exactly complain if we don't show up at Filch's office for our detention if we were at our detention in the first place, right? 

"Evening, boys," Hagrid says. "What brings you out this way? Out to see the little guy?" 

"We're here for our detention," I say. 

"Isn't that not until eleven o'clock?" Hagrid says. 

"We're here early," I say. 

"We're going to detention early?" Ron says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Our detention is sending us into the Forbidden Forest," I tell him seriously. "I'd rather not be in there in the middle of the night if I can possibly help it. I'd like to _survive_ this night." 

"Oh, man," Ron says. "Seriously?" 

"Well, I suppose it can't hurt to get started early," Hagrid says. "And don't worry, boys. You'll be safe so long as you're with me. I won't let anything hurt you." 

That was more reassuring _before_ I died out there. "All the same, I'd like to take Norbert along with us, too," I say. 

"I suppose," Hagrid says. "Well, if we're starting early, might as well get going, then. Come, Fang!" 

Accompanied by Hagrid's large hound, the three of us head out into the forest to Norbert's little lair. The dragonling is more than happy to come with us, and tags along at my side as we continue into the forest. 

"Here we go," Hagrid says, pointing toward some spots of unicorn blood splattered on the ground. I'm not really sure, but I think it might look a bit fresher. But that might be just my mind playing into expectations. "This is what we're looking for. I found a dead unicorn last week, and it looks like another one's been hurt." 

"Maybe if we find it fast enough, we might still be able to help it," I suggest. 

We don't find the unicorns before we run across the centaurs, however. Ronan prances out of the trees and stops before us, and says, "Good evening, Hagrid." 

"Ah, hello, Ronan," Hagrid says, and introduces me and Ron. 

I put in, "Mars is bright tonight." 

"Indeed," Ronan agrees, looking a little surprised and impressed. 

"And time is of the essence," I add. "Let's go, Hagrid." 

"Yeah, can't stop and chat," Hagrid says. "We're tracking down a wounded unicorn." I tug at his sleeve, practically dragging him away from the centaur. Once we're away from the clearing, he says, "Not very eager to talk to centaurs, are you?" 

"Just that there's a unicorn bleeding to death out there while they prattle on about the stars," I say. 

"And what was that bit about Mars?" Hagrid says. 

"Just guessing at what they'd probably say," I say. "Oh! Mars is bright! The moon is full! The sun is in Aries! The dog barks are midnight!" 

I go quiet as we come upon a clearing and spot something white moving slowly across the ground. Silvery blood oozes out of the creature's once-pristine flank. Thank Shazmar, we're not too late. It's still alive. Perhaps we can still save it. 

A hooded figure in a black cloak appears at the edge of the trees, and raises its hand toward me. Norbert is having nothing of that, however. The little dragon snarls and snaps at the cloaked figure, who quickly retreats. I breathe a sigh of relief. 

"What the heck was that?" Ron wonders. "Is someone else out here?" 

"Whoever might've hurt the unicorn, probably," I say. "Can we still save it, Hagrid?" 

"Think so," Hagrid says, approaching the unicorn. It doesn't look pleased at wizards being so close, but is in no condition to protest much. "Lucky you wanted to come out early. I don't think it'd have lasted till eleven. Wish I'd gotten a better look at whoever -- or whatever -- that was." 

With the unicorn's bleeding stopped for the moment, the three of us try to guide the creature back to the Hogwarts grounds. When we near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, I send Norbert off back to his lair. "Don't want to be seen too close to the castle," I tell him. Once he's gone, however, I keep my hand on my wand and my eyes on the shadows for any sign of that cloaked figure. I don't see it again, however, and we make it back without incident. 

"Alright, kids," Hagrid says. "Run along and get Professor Kettleburn, and then head to bed. I'll look after this critter till he gets here." 

"Where's Kettleburn's office?" I ask. 

Hagrid gives directions, and Ron and I head off that way. However, Filch intercepts us on our way there. 

"There you are," Filch says. "Trying to skip out on your detention, are you?" 

"No, sir," I say. "We need to get Professor Kettleburn. Hagrid's got a wounded unicorn outside who needs help." 

"Really now," Filch says. "I think you're just making excuses, now. Come along back to my office." 

"Mr. Filch!" I exclaim. "There's a dying unicorn out there! We don't have time for this!" 

"We've got to get Professor Kettleburn!" Ron insists. 

"Nope," Filch says. "You're coming with me, right now." 

"Ron, get to Kettleburn," I say. "I'll keep him busy." I glare at Filch. "I'll risk another detention to save a life." Ron nods and turns to run off. 

"Get back here, you miserable little brat!" Filch calls. "Oh, you're in trouble now." 

"I can live with that," I say. "I would not, however, be able to live with my conscience if that poor unicorn died because of you!" 

Filch grabs my arm and practically drags me back to his office. I don't dare try to hex him, though. I'm in for enough trouble as it is. But surely they will realize this time that my intentions are good and that I'm _not_ lying about the unicorn or trying to get out of detention. 

"Hagrid took us out for our detention in the Forbidden Forest early," I try to explain. "Because there was a unicorn hurt out there, and if we didn't find it soon, it would have died." 

"And how did you know you were being sent into the Forbidden Forest?" Filch demands. 

"Hagrid told me, of course," I say. 

"I still think you're a little liar, Potter," Filch says. "Just like your father. _He_ was constantly getting into trouble, too, you know." 

"You'll see," I say. 

"Now, you just stay right here," Filch says. "And we'll see who is telling the truth here." 

Filch heads out, leaving me alone in the office for the moment. Definitely not one of my favorite places in Hogwarts. The room is dingy and dismal, and a collection of chains and manacles hangs behind Filch's desk. There's also a cabinet labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous". Oh, if that's not an invitation to poke around and see if there's anything interesting inside, I don't know what is. 

" _Alohomora_ ," I say quietly, and the lock opens, allowing me to look inside. Hmm, some dungbombs, a nose-biting teacup, a few objects I can't immediately identify... Nothing particularly interesting. Drat. I close and lock the cabinet again and look around the room a bit more. 

Sitting on Filch's desk, underneath some nondescript and uninteresting papers, is a book titled _Learn Magic Fast with Kwikspell_. What's this? Why would Filch be trying to learn magic at his age? I scratch my head in puzzlement. Could he be a Squib? I wouldn't think that this would be a problem, back at home, but I also have to think that back home, there's also a higher level of magic than here. It probably takes a lot more for a latent mage to push through and get their magic working. I kind of wish I could just send him back to Torn Elkandu for training. They'd probably be able to teach him. 

I really wish that I could read auras. At least then I would be able to tell at a glance what sort of magic someone like Filch might just be able to use. As it is, however, I haven't seen any evidence that that particular ability is even known in this universe. Oh well. I guess I'm not going to be learning it anytime soon. 

Filch returns to his office momentarily. "You are fortunate, Potter, that Hagrid backs up your story. And did, indeed, have a wounded unicorn. So you'd best count your blessings and run along to your common room before I change my mind." 

"Will the unicorn be alright, sir?" I ask. 

"Professor Kettleburn expected it to make a full recovery," Filch says. 

"Thank you, sir," I say. "Good night." 

I head back up to Gryffindor Tower, feeling pretty good about myself. I managed to save a life tonight. And most importantly, managed to avoid dying myself. 

Ron meets up with me back in the common room, and grins at me as I approach. "I take it by the look on your face that we didn't get detention again?" 

"Heh," I say. "Yeah, Filch let me go. Good job on getting Kettleburn. I heard the unicorn's going to make it." 

"Why do you suppose somebody would want to hurt a unicorn, anyway?" Ron wonders. 

"Hmm," I say. "I'm afraid I don't know much about unicorns." I go to dig out a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and look up unicorns. At least this isn't an obscure, arcane subject. 

"Anything useful in there?" Ron wonders, leaning over to look. 

"Well, the horn, hair, and blood have magical properties, it says," I say. "You wouldn't need to kill it for the hair. Maybe the culprit was after their blood for some reason? Unfortunately, the damned book doesn't specify just _what_ these magical properties are. Useless thing. Let's just go to bed." 

"Yeah," Ron says. "Good idea." 

I find myself thinking about the unicorns as I lay in bed, however. If they're anything like the unicorns back home, I'd imagine that they probably have innate healing powers. Perhaps that dark figure is looking for their horns or blood or something to save his life. It's a horrifying thought, and one that descends into nightmares of shadows stalking me as I drift into sleep.


	10. Gauntlet of Traps

Exams are finally upon us. I'd like to think that I've learned a lot this year, or at least I've gotten a solid foundation for my magical skills. I still have a depressingly long way to go, however. There's so much to learn still. But at least I got through the year. 

All the while, the Philosopher's Stone is a niggling worry in the back of my mind. I have faith in Dumbledore, and figure that if he thinks it's safe, it's probably safe. But what if Quirrell finds a way past the defenses? He's a teacher, after all. Would Dumbledore have knowingly hired on a teacher that he could not trust? I don't think so. Quirrell might have inside knowledge to help him get in to where the Stone is being kept. 

And it doesn't help that Ron and Neville don't believe me about Snape. Neville's been even more nervous in Potions than usual. I wind up pairing up with him just to try to ease his nerves and make sure his potions don't blow up in his face just because of that. We're still both a failure at it, but at least Ron is doing better due to not having to deal with Neville's screw-ups on top of his own. 

I think I've done well enough on my exams, for the most part. Nothing spectacular, but passable. Better in some subjects than others. My Transfiguration has definitely improved, for one thing. I'm successfully able to to transform a mouse into a snuffbox, not a particularly fancy one, but without any telltale whiskers left over. My Charms work is sufficient as well. I'm able to make a pineapple dance across a table, even if it did fall off afterward and nearly go dancing out the door. And Potions, well, the less said about that, the better. 

The day after exams are over, we're supposed to be relaxing outside, but I can't help but still be worried about the Philosopher's Stone. Are the defenses really going to be sufficient? Well, it couldn't hurt to go check. I'll just slip into the third-floor corridor and take a peek to make sure the three-headed hound is still on watch like it's supposed to be. 

Professor McGonagall intercepts me along the way. "What are you doing inside?" she wonders. "Go out and enjoy the sunshine." 

"I, er, forgot something," I say. Namely, I forgot to put on my invisibility cloak. 

"Very well," McGonagall says with a sigh. "I will escort you to your common room, then." 

No use trying to dissuade her. That'll just look suspicious. "Thank you, Professor," I say. 

She comes along with me to the Gryffindor common room. "Now, hurry up, young man. I have things to do." 

Once in my dorm room, I pull on my invisibility cloak, and then try to slip out past Professor McGonagall. Her back is toward the portrait hole and attention on the stairs to the boy's dormitories, thankfully. I manage to slip out of the common room without attracting her attention. I feel a little guilty about it, as she'll be standing here waiting for a while, though. Oh well. No help for it. 

I make my way down to the third floor and over to the forbidden corridor, unlocking the door with a quick " _Alohomora_." Inside, the three-headed hound is still guarding the corridor... but there's an open trapdoor underneath it this time. That wasn't there before, or at least it definitely wasn't open. Somebody's down there. Or has been down there. I just hope that the Stone hasn't _already_ been stolen. 

I should just go and tell somebody about this, but there might not be time. They might be in the process of stealing the Stone even as I try to convince someone that there's a problem. Damn. I decide to try to sneak in myself. The three-headed hound isn't fooled by the invisibility cloak, however. I imagine it can probably smell me and hear me. It's definitely looking straight at me as if trying to decide if something is really there or not. 

I make a break for the trapdoor. The huge hound quickly decides that, yes, something is certainly there, and pounces upon me. The cloak is knocked from my body, and razor-sharp fangs rip and tear my flesh apart. A few agonizing moments, and I'm dead. 

* * *

I wake in my dorm room, and rub my eyes with a sigh. Well, that was unpleasant, if not entirely unexpected. How am I supposed to get past the hound? Maybe I can wheedle the information out of Hagrid somehow. 

I eat breakfast again, and after we're sent outside to "enjoy the sunshine", I head out to Hagrid's hut. He's currently sitting in a chair outside, working on removing peas from their pods by hand, for some reason. Maybe he thinks it's relaxing or something? 

"Hello, Harry," Hagrid says. "How'd your exams go? Got time for a drink?" 

"Well enough, I suppose," I say. I wonder how I should approach this. For starters, I head inside and accept the tea Hagrid offers me. At least it's private in here. "Hagrid, you provided the three-headed hound on the third floor to help guard the Philosopher's Stone, right?" 

Hagrid almost drops his tea. "How'd you know about Fluffy? And the Stone?" 

I stare at him for several moments. "You named a vicious, gigantic three-headed dog _Fluffy_?" 

"Well, yeah," Hagrid says. "He's really a sweet thing, if you know how to handle him. But what are you doing poking into this, anyway? This business is between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. You shouldn't be involved at all." 

"I think someone's going to try to steal the Stone," I say. 

"Now, don't you worry none about that," Hagrid says. "Nobody can get past the defenses the teachers have put around it." 

"But what if it's a _teacher_ that tries to steal it?" I ask. 

"None of them would do a thing like that," Hagrid says. "And besides, even if they did, they don't know what the other teachers have done. They only know about their own part in the defenses. Why, I doubt they could even get past Fluffy!" 

"You haven't told anyone about Fluffy, have you?" I ask. 

"Of course not!" Hagrid says. "I'd never intentionally betray Dumbledore's trust in me!" 

"What about unintentionally?" I suggest. "Could you have possibly let something slip, perhaps while drunk? Have you made any mention of Fluffy _at all_ to anyone?" 

"Well, there was that fellow down at the pub, now that you mention it," Hagrid says. "The bloke I won Norbert's egg from. He was concerned that I might not be able to handle a dragon, and I said after Fluffy, it should be no problem." 

I frown faintly. "You've always wanted a dragon, haven't you? Isn't it a little convenient that someone just happened to have one for you, despite their being illegal?" 

"Well, he might've been a dragon dealer," Hagrid says. "Didn't really think about it. I imagine he wanted to get it off his hands real quick." 

"What did he look like?" I ask. "Tell me everything you remember." 

"Didn't get a good look at him. He had a cloak, and he kept his hood up, you see," Hagrid says. "I don't really remember too much, since he kept buying me drinks and all..." 

I groan softly. "Go on," I urge him. "Did he seem interested in Fluffy?" 

"Who wouldn't be?" Hagrid says. "He's a rare kind, you don't see many like him in this part of the world. I got him from a Greek chappie last year. But I told him, Fluffy's a piece of cake if you know how to handle him. Just play a bit of music and he'll go right to sleep..." Hagrid suddenly looks mortified. "I shouldn't have told you that! Gah, I shouldn't have told _him_ that!" 

"Damn it!" I say, shooting to my feet. I rush on out the door, ignoring Hagrid's protests. 

I head into the castle, and run straight on into Professor McGonagall again. "What are you doing inside, Potter?" 

"I forgot something," I say. Yeah, I forgot to put on my invisibility cloak. Again. I'm such an idiot. 

McGonagall escorts me to the Gryffindor common room again. I head on up to my dorm room and decide to poke through my trunk for something to grab, not caring to just leave her waiting there again. Ah! Here's the wooden flute Hagrid gave me for Christmas. I forgot all about that. And never bothered to learn how to play it, either. With that in hand, I head down to the common room again. 

I show McGonagall the flute. "Hagrid gave it to me for Christmas," I tell her. "I wanted to entertain my friends with it." 

"I see," McGonagall says. "That seems innocent enough. Come along, now. Back outside you go." 

McGonagall leaves me outside the castle. Once she's out of earshot, I put the flute to my lips and blow on it a bit. It takes me several tries just to get it to work. Shazmar, I'm terrible at this. No help for it, though. I slip away somewhere out of sight, and throw my invisibility cloak over myself. Time to try this again. 

I return to the third floor, cast an Unlocking Charm on the door, and head inside. Here goes nothing. Facing the three-headed hound -- who names a beast like this _Fluffy_ , anyway? -- I put the flute to my lips and attempt to play. Yeah, I'm really bad at this. I manage to get out some random, breathy notes with no discernable tune. Thankfully, giant three-headed dogs don't really know anything about music, and it's close enough. Fluffy drifts off straight to sleep. 

I continue playing as I make my way across to the trapdoor, just in case. There's no ladder or anything, so I suppose I'll just have to drop down and hope for the best. Here goes nothing. I fall down, down, down, and just as I'm starting to think this is going to end in a splat, I land with a _fwump_ as something soft breaks my fall. 

It seems to be some sort of plant. Good thing it's here. I imagine it was put here so you could get down here without breaking your neck. I go to climb out of the plant. Vines tighten around my limbs. Ah, crap, it's _that_ sort of plant. Silly me for expecting something benign down here. I struggle to extract myself from the vines, only to find a tendril worming its way around my neck. I can't breathe. It's too tight. I'm getting light-headed. How embarrassing, being killed by a damned plant. 

* * *

I wake. Alright, well, at least I know how to get past the dog now. Before going to breakfast, I open up my trunk and pull out the flute, and tuck it away in my robes. But the plant, hmm... I didn't recognize what sort of plant it might be, besides the obvious that it strangled me to death. 

Maybe I should ask Neville. He's the resident Herbology expert, after all. I'd rather not have to actually take him along. I'll feel better if I'm only putting myself in danger, after all. So maybe I can think of a way to ask him, discreetly, and figure something out. 

I approach him out by the lake after breakfast. "Hey, Neville," I say, sitting down next to him. "You know a lot about plants, right? I expect you aced the Herbology exam." 

"I'd be really disappointed if I didn't," Neville says. "It's not like I'm good at anything else. How do you think you did?" 

"Eh," I say. "Not so well, I think." I chuckle softly. "I think I'm liable to get strangled to death or something if I ever run across any remotely dangerous or unusual plants." 

"Well, there's certainly a few sorts you'd need to watch out for," Neville says. "Although you're not likely to run across them at Hogwarts! Planning a trip to the jungle over the summer?" 

"Hey, I might do some traveling in the near future," I say. "There's a whole world out there to see, after all. So, if I'm ever in a damp, dark place being strangled by a vine, what should I do?" 

Neville looks at me suspiciously. He's not stupid, and I think I'm being a bit obvious. But he answers the question anyway. "Well, that would depend upon what sort of plant it is. If it's a Devil's Snare, for instance, you'd want to fend it off with bright light or fire. Although, if it's a Demon Vine, it would absorb fire. And if it's a Strangler, light would make it grow faster. And if it's a Moon Tendril, only sunlight would discourage it." 

I stare at Neville. "How do you tell the difference?" 

"Hmm," Neville says. "Demon Vine is by far the most dangerous of them, but also the rarest. But it's also pretty distinctive. The vines are red and warm to the touch. You'd want to freeze that. Let's see. Moon Tendrils have little white flowers. The biggest difference between a Devil's Snare and a Strangler is that the Devil's Snare has a mass of multiple tentacles, whereas the Strangler has only a single one." 

"Plants are complicated," I say. No wonder I'm so bad at Potions and Herbology. 

"There's also differences in behavior, of course," Neville says. "With Devil's Snare, it'll tighten itself on you if you try to struggle. Demon Vine is attracted to heat rather than movement, however. Moon Tendrils will only attack males. And Stranglers can hear your heartbeat." 

I rub my temples. "I think I'll just... take a walk, and leave the Herbology to you, Neville," I say. "Have fun." 

I head off to get somewhere out of sight, and put on my invisibility cloak. I still have no idea what sort of plant attacked me. It's not like I even got a good look at it. It was _dark_ , after all. Oh well, at least I've got a couple things I can try. I sneak off to the third floor and let myself into the forbidden corridor, play my flute badly to get past Fluffy, and drop down into the trapdoor. 

Still can't get a good look at the plant. " _Lumos_ ," I say. My wand lights up, giving me a good view of the vines. No flowers, no distinctive red color. And the light doesn't seem to be encouraging it overly much. It's also not drawing itself upon me too enthusiastically with me just calmly sitting there. So it must be Devil's Snare. 

I poke my lit wand at the vines and try to climb out of the plant. The light isn't very bright and it takes a bit of work to get myself free, but I do manage to extract myself after several minutes. Maybe I should have just burned the damned thing. It would have been quicker. 

Letting my wand light my way, I make my way down the corridor, and come upon a large room with a high ceiling. Man, I'm far enough beneath Hogwarts for there to be room enough for this place? High above, there are small winged creatures fluttering about, but they don't seem immediately inclined to attack. 

Cautiously, I head across to the far door. Still nothing attacks me. I try the door. Locked, of course. " _Alohomora_ ," I say. Hmm, no, still locked. It must be enchanted to prevent that spell from working. I suppose I'll need a key or something. But where? 

I look up at the objects flitting about overhead. Are they... glittering? Metallic? Are they winged keys, perhaps? I glance around and notice some broomsticks propped up by one wall. Yes, this must be a test for catching the correct key. I'm screwed. I am so screwed. 

No help for it. I sigh and go over to grab one of the brooms, and mount it awkwardly. I fly up into the flock of keys, trying to get a good look at them and figure out which one I'm going to need. They're all different shapes and sizes, different materials, different colored wings. I have my doubts as to whether I can catch even one of these, never mind enough of them to get through the door by trial and error. 

I chase after the keys, darting this way and that, trying to reach out and grab one while avoiding falling off my broom. After a couple near-slips, I think I might manage to catch one. I zip after it, stretching out with my right hand to snatch at it. 

_Crash_. I slam squarely into the wall. Gah. Ow. Not again. Head spinning, I go tumbling to the ground. I fall head first at the floor. Impact. 

* * *

I wake, rubbing my head. At least having my skull shattered was a quick death. And at least I've gotten a little further into the trap gauntlet. I'm exhausted, so I pull out some Wideye Potion before retrieving my flute. 

I'm going to need to get the help of someone who can fly. I didn't want to involve anyone else, but no way around it. I simply can't do this one on my own. Perhaps someone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I'm pretty friendly with the Weasley Twins. Maybe they'll be willing to help. 

After breakfast, I catch the two of them outside, huddled up and looking to be preparing their latest prank. I approach them quietly, and say, "Hey. Got a minute? I think I'm going to need your help with something." 

"Ah, if it isn't Harry Potter!" Fred says. Or George. Whichever. The one on the left. I mentally assign them names at random until proven otherwise. 

"Brother of mine, this might be even better than what we've got planned ourselves," George says. 

"What do you have in mind, Harry?" Fred asks. 

I give them a wry grin. "This is all a big secret that I'm going to share with you," I say. "You know that third floor corridor? The one forbidden on pain of death?" 

"Forbidden on pain of being ripped apart by a three-headed dog," George says. 

"Why am I not surprised that you looked inside?" I say, chuckling. 

"The very night Dumbledore announced it, of course," Fred says. 

I nod. "Dumbledore's keeping something rare and valuable hidden down there, past a gauntlet of protections," I explain. "And I have reason to believe that someone's going to try to steal it. I've managed to learn a bit about the defenses, and I'd like your help in getting past them." 

The twins look at me thoughtfully. "Do you know what the object is?" George asks. 

"And who would want to steal it?" George adds. 

"It's a Philosopher's Stone," I tell them quietly. 

They frown in unison. "I've heard of those," Fred says. 

"They can transmute gold," George says. 

"And brew the Elixir of Life," Fred adds. 

"Who _wouldn't_ want that?" George says. 

I raise my hand, smirking. "I've no real interest in either of those things. That's not why I'm after it. Although I wouldn't mind studying it, if we can get our hands on it." 

"You sure you shouldn't have been in Ravenclaw?" Fred says, chuckling. 

"Nah," George says. "Pulling the wool over the eyes of both Dumbledore and the potential thief by going into a dangerous place? That's all Gryffindor." 

"So, will you help me?" I ask. 

"Of course!" Fred says. 

"We'll just need to sneak into the castle without getting caught," George says. 

"Let's go," Fred says. 

"Oh, another secret for you," I say, pulling them aside to a nook out of sight. "This will help avoid being spotted." I pull out the invisibility cloak. 

"Whoa!" George says. 

"You have an invisibility cloak?" Fred says. 

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" George says. 

"Where did you ever get it?" Fred says. 

"It used to belong to my dad," I say. "Hmm, I think we can all fit under there. Is this thing an invisibility cloak, or an invisibility _tent_?" 

The twins give one another a look, and George says, "Tell you what." 

"Since you told us about your secret," Fred says. 

"--we'll tell you about ours," George says. 

Fred brings out a piece of parchment from his robes. At first glance, it appears to be blank, but Fred touches it with his wand and says, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

The parchment is suddenly covered with a map of the castle, with little dots, each of them labeled with a name. "Whoa," I say. "That's awesome." 

"You can borrow it from time to time, if you like," George says. 

"--if you let us borrow your lovely cloak, too," Fred adds. 

"Deal," I say, grinning broadly. 

Between the cloak and the map, we have no trouble avoiding running across anyone who might catch us. Either one or the other would suffice, but both seems almost like overkill. 

"Do you see Quirrell anywhere on the map?" I ask. 

"Hmm," Fred says, peering at it. 

"Nope," George says. "Nowhere to be seen." 

"I guess the place we're going isn't on the map," I say. 

We make it to the third floor, and I pull off the cloak and tuck it away outside the forbidden corridor. I pull out my flute, unlock the door, and step inside. I start playing, and Fluffy yawns and curls up to sleep. 

"Good thing the dog isn't a music critic," George says. 

"Yeah, you're really bad at that," Fred says. 

I roll my eyes and point to the trapdoor, continuing to play. 

"Alright, alright, we're going," George says. 

The twins drop down the trapdoor, and I follow right behind them. Once we land in the Devil's Snare, I ready my wand and say, " _Incendio!_ " Fire bursts from my wand, and the plant shrinks away. " _Lumos_. Alright, let's go." 

We come upon the room with the flying keys. "What are those things?" George says. 

Fred squints up. "Those aren't birds." 

"Looks like metal," George says. 

"The door is locked," I say. " _Alohomora_. Nope, no good. We need a key." 

"Could those be..." Fred says. 

"...flying keys?" George finishes. 

"But which is the correct one?" I say. 

"Leave this one to us," Fred says. 

"We're real champions at Quidditch, after all," George adds. 

"Alright," I say. "I'll keep an eye out from down here. I'm rubbish at flying, anyway." 

The twins grab brooms and zip up into the air. "Wonder what we're looking for?" Fred says. 

"Maybe one to match the door," George says. 

"Harry!" Fred calls. "Describe the door handle for us!" 

I give it a close look. "It's ornate and silver," I reply. "And the keyhole is pretty big." 

"So we're looking for a big, fancy silver key, I bet," George says. 

I watch them from down below, darting about from this way and that. After several minutes, they catch a key that matches that description, with bright blue wings, one of them appearing to have been bent. They land and set their brooms aside. 

"This is probably it," Fred says. He inserts the still-struggling key into the lock and turns. Click. The door opens. 

"Got it!" George exclaims. "We are brilliant, brother of mine." 

"Yes, we are," Fred agrees. 

We head through the door and into the next room. Here, there is a giant chessboard taking up much of the room, with pieces the size of people. Another puzzle? I'm starting to wonder just _why_ Dumbledore set up these sorts of "protections" around the Philosopher's Stone. These are _games_ , not defenses. 

"Chess?" George says. 

"It's a pity ickle Ronniekins isn't here to see this," Fred says. 

"He's that good at chess?" I say. 

"He could beat us, I'm sad to admit," George says. 

"He could beat _anyone_ ," Fred adds. 

"I suppose we'll have to play our way across the board," I say. "I'm not very good at this, though." 

I take the position of the queen, and Fred and George become the knights. The game looks to be going fairly well at first, but then I get overconfident and make a wrong move. An enemy knight comes in out of nowhere and attacks me. Gah, the movements of the knights always confuse me. I collapse and black out. 

* * *

I wake with a sigh. So close. Perhaps I should have just let Fred and George decide all the moves, instead. And why am I so exhausted? I haven't been awake for _that_ long. Maybe it has something to do with the number of deaths in such a short period, too. I grab a Wideye Potion and down it, snatch up my flute, and head out of the dorm. 

After breakfast, I go and catch Ron out by the lake. "Ron," I say. "I think someone's going to try to steal it today." 

"You think Snape will try to make his move while everyone's out of the castle?" Ron says. 

"It's not Snape, Ron!" I insist. "But right now it doesn't really matter who it is. We've got to stop them." 

"Shouldn't we just tell Dumbledore about it?" Ron suggests. 

I sigh. "Maybe you're right. Dumbledore will do something, surely." 

Neville approaches us. "Hey," Neville says. "What're you up to?" 

"We're going to go see Dumbledore," I say. "And warn him that someone's going to try to steal the You-Know-What." 

"I'll go with you," Neville says. 

I nod. This should be harmless enough. I'd rather claim the Philosopher's Stone for myself, but Dumbledore really ought to be warned, and I _do_ trust him, after all. But he's made mistakes before. 

We head up toward the Headmaster's office. Sure enough, we're intercepted by Professor McGonagall along the way. "What are you boys doing inside on such a beautiful day?" McGonagall says. 

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore," I say. 

"I'm afraid you're out of luck there," McGonagall says. "He left the castle early this morning and won't be back until tomorrow. He's currently visiting the Ministry of Magic." 

My heart skips a beat. I didn't realize Dumbledore is out of the castle. What better opportunity to attempt to steal the Stone while he's gone? "Professor," I say. "We think someone's going to try to steal the Philosopher's Stone." 

McGonagall drops the stack of books she was carrying. "How do you know about that?" she demands. 

"Magic," I say vaguely. 

"Well, you don't need to worry yourselves about it," McGonagall says. "I assure you that the Stone's defenses will prove quite adequate. No one will be able to get past them." 

I don't mention that a halfway competent group of first years could get past these amazing defenses. I take a deep breath, and keep myself calm. "I'll take your word on that, Professor," I say. 

"Good," McGonagall says. "Now, run along outside and play, and don't worry about these things that are none of your business." 

The three of us return outside again. Neville says, "You know what this means, right?" 

Ron nods. "Yeah," he says. "We're going to need to stop Snape from getting it ourselves." 

"It's not-- bah, never mind," I say. "Let's see if we can get some more help with this. It's probably going to be dangerous. How about we go ask Fred and George to lend a hand?" 

"Good idea," Ron says. "They're experts in getting into places they aren't supposed to be." 

We locate the twins, and I proceed to convince them as I did before. I show them the cloak, and they show us the map. There's too many of us to fit under the cloak, however, so we just use the map this time. 

"How long have you had that?" Ron wonders. 

"Since our first year," Fred replies. 

"Nicked it from Filch's office," George says. 

"I bet Mum would've gone spare if she knew the half of what you two get up to," Ron comments. "Do you see Snape anywhere on the map?" 

Fred peers at the map for a few moments. "There he is, in his office." 

"So he's not going after it right this minute," Neville says. 

"I keep telling you, it's not Snape," I say. 

"You're the only one who thinks Quirrell is the least bit competent enough to do this," Ron says, smirking. "And what would he do about that dog? Stutter at it?" 

I sigh. It's a losing battle, trying to convince them of that. Hopefully it won't matter. We'll get in there and see Quirrell, and they won't be able to argue with that. We get to the third floor and unlock the door. I play my flute to put Fluffy to sleep. 

"I'm going to be polite and not comment on your playing," Neville says. 

"I'm not," Fred says. "You suck." 

I roll my eyes and point at the trapdoor. 

"Alright, alright," George says. "Let's go." 

I continue playing, and we drop down one at a time, and I come down last. We land in the Devil's Snare, thankfully managing not to land on top of one another, too. 

"Don't struggle!" Neville says. "This is Devil's Snare! We need bright light, or fire!" 

" _Lumos_ ," Ron says. The plant is only slightly discouraged by the faint light. 

"Not good enough," I say. " _Incendio!_ " 

The plant shrinks away from the fire, and the five of us extract ourselves from the snare. We continue on and get to the room of keys. Neville and I opt to stay on the ground and let the three Weasleys take care of this. It's Ron that winds up catching the correct key, and we move on to the next puzzle. 

"Wicked," Ron says, eyes widening upon seeing the giant chessboard. "This one's mine." 

I take the queen, the twins take the knights, Ron takes a rook, and Neville takes a bishop. We follow Ron's directions to play our way across the board. I think we're doing pretty good, but I'm hardly one to judge. 

"Alright," Ron says. "On this next move, the queen will take me. Neville, you need to make your move after that to put the king in checkmate. It'll be up to the rest of you to stop Snape and get the Stone!" 

"Wait a minute," I say, alarmed. "Isn't there a better way to do this?" 

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made," Ron says. 

"I'm not going to sacrifice my friends!" I exclaim. 

"You're not going to," Ron says. "I'm going to sacrifice myself." 

Before I can say another word, Ron makes his move. I scream as the enemy queen knocks him out, and realize I'm not the only one screaming. Neville looks as though he might piss himself at any moment, but he keeps his head on and makes the necessary move to checkmate the king and win the game. The pieces bow and leave the board. 

Fred and George rush over to their brother's side. "He's just unconscious," Fred says. 

"He doesn't look hurt," George says. 

"He'll be alright, I'm sure," Fred says. 

Why is it that Ron is just unconscious, but I was killed? Does the universe just hate me or something? No matter. I'm relieved that Ron is alright. "Neville," I say. "Could you take Ron and get out of here?" 

Neville nods. "Alright." 

The twins and I continue on to the next room. This one contains an enormous, rank-smelling troll. Unconscious. I freeze in terror upon seeing it. I know it can't be the same one that killed Hermione, but it's still an unpleasant sight nonetheless. 

"What an amazing new smell we've discovered," George comments. 

The troll stirs. Shit, it's coming to? The troll climbs to its feet and hefts a giant club. The twins begin shouting spells ineffectually, but I can't move a muscle. The troll swings its club, smashing into Fred. George cries out as his twin slumps down against the wall. Is he dead? I don't know, but he's clearly hurt. I try to make myself move and pull out my wand, but I'm too slow. The club comes down on top of me, crushing my head. 

* * *

I wake, rubbing my head. Ugh, not again. So tired. I fumble around for the box of Wideye Potions and manage to down one. I'm still pretty tired even after that, so I quaff a second one as well. 

Alright. That'll do. I pull out my copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and look up the section on trolls. They're resistant to magic, but vulnerable to fire. Good enough. 

I grab my flute and head out. Breakfast. Then I collect Ron and Neville, and Fred and George, and the five of us head back to the third floor corridor. Past Fluffy, past the Devil's Snare, past the flying keys, past the chessboard. I send Neville back with the unconscious Ron, and head into the troll room with the twins once again. 

" _Incendio!_ " I exclaim, pointing my wand at the troll. A jet of flame strikes the creature, and it shrinks back, roaring in pain. The twins take my hint and hurl fire at the beast themselves. After being bombarded with several spells, the troll collapses against the far wall. 

"Is it... dead?" Fred wonders. 

"Don't know," I say. "Don't really care, either." 

We continue on into the next room. Here, there's a table with several bottles laid out in a row. As we step into the room, purple flames erupt behind us, blocking the door we just came in through. The far door is blocked as well, by black flames. 

"What is this?" Fred says. 

"We need to figure out which potion to use?" George suggests. 

There's a piece of parchment on the table detailing what appears to be a puzzle, clues to determine which potions to use. More games. The troll and the Devil's Snare were the only proper defenses in this entire place! What is Dumbledore playing at here? 

I don't understand the puzzle, so I decide to just grab the first potion on the left and try it. "Here goes nothing," I say, downing the contents of the bottle. 

It tastes like fire going down, and I quickly realize that I've made a mistake. I die choking in agony as my insides burn up rapidly. 

* * *

Well, that didn't go well. Time to try again. I'll get through there if I have to test every bottle the hard way, damn it! Even as I have the horrible thought of the twins being trapped in that room after watching me die painfully. I shudder involuntarily at the mental image. I down two Wideye Potions, grab my flute, and head out to breakfast. 

I collect my four friends, and we return to the third floor corridor, and pass through the puzzles. The twins and I make it back to the potion room. Well, the first bottle was poison, so I try the second one. Hmm, nettle wine. I try the third one. This one feels like ice going down as I feel its magic working on it. Benign rather than deadly magic. 

"I think that was it," I say. 

"There wasn't enough in there for us," Fred says. 

"What will we do?" George asks. 

"Wait here, I suppose," I say. "Unless you really want to take your chances and try to figure out which one will take you back." 

They nod, and Fred says, "Good luck, Ickle Harrikins." 

"Ugh," I say. "Don't mention _luck_." I chuckle at them, and head on through.


	11. Saving the Stone

In the next room, I see Professor Quirrell, standing in front of what can only be the Mirror of Erised. Did Dumbledore use that thing as part of the so-called defenses as well? 

"Hello, Professor Quirrell," I say darkly. 

"Ah, if it isn't the young Mr. Potter," Quirrell says. "I had wondered if you would come." 

"Why?" I wonder. "It's not like I've exactly done anything particularly reckless or heroic." That anyone knows about, at least. 

"And yet here you are," Quirrell says. "No matter. Today you will die." 

With a snap of his fingers, ropes appear out of nowhere and tie themselves around me, holding me in place tightly. How did he do that? No wand, no incantation, just a snap of the fingers? I've got to learn how to do that. As it is, well, this isn't good. I can't reach my wand like this. 

"Now, why don't you stay there and wait quietly," Quirrell says. "I must examine this most fascinating mirror." He turns to look into the Mirror of Erised. "This is the key to finding the Stone, I am certain." 

I don't know how the mirror might be protecting the Stone, but I fear that if he's allowed to concentrate on it, he might just find the way past this puzzle. I've got to distract him. "What do you hope to gain from this, Quirrell? Riches? Long life? Or is it something more?" 

Quirrell chuckles softly. "When I traveled the world, I came upon my new master. I had many foolish notions about good and evil, once, but Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. And so I have served him loyally. But he is a strong, powerful wizard, and I am so weak..." 

I stare at him, as it dawns on me what he intends to do. "You're trying to resurrect the Dark Lord?" 

"Oh, yes," Quirrell says. "Lord Voldemort's return will be a glorious triumph! He is not very forgiving, and I have failed him numerous times, but this time I shall succeed! He was angry about my failure to retrieve the Stone from Gringotts, and decided that he needed to keep a closer watch upon me. And so now he is always with me..." 

I peer about. Does this mean that the Dark Lord is here in the room with us somehow, as some sort of disembodied spirit? That's no good. I go cold with dread. 

Quirrell continues to examine the mirror, muttering to himself. "I don't understand this puzzle. Is the Stone within the mirror? Should I attempt to break it to get it out? How does the mirror work? Help me, Master!" 

An eerie voice replies, "Use the boy..." 

"Yes... yes, of course," Quirrell says. "Potter! Come here." The ropes that were holding me fall away. 

I take the opportunity to pull out my wand. I'm not playing his stupid games. I don't dare even pretend to try to help him find the Stone. " _Fulgoris!_ " I exclaim. A bolt of electricity shoots from the end of my wand, striking Quirrell. I haven't had a chance to try out this hex before. I figured it would work well for me due to my affinity for lightning. 

But Quirrell doesn't appear to be badly harmed. "Now, now, none of that, Potter." The wand suddenly flies out of my hand. Quirrell catches it and tucks it away. "No more spells from you. Now, come take a look into this mirror." 

This is no good. Maybe if I try to stall him, help will arrive. What a slim chance. Who is going to come and help? Dumbledore won't be back today. Maybe the twins will find a way through. Maybe Neville will get help. I don't like the look of this situation. How am I supposed to stop him? He's an adult, and while hardly the most terrifying wizard ever, even to the point of describing himself as weak, he's still far more skilled and experienced as I am. 

I take a deep breath and step in front of the mirror. Don't show me the Stone. Please don't show me the Stone. I don't want the Stone. I wouldn't be able to keep it from him if I had it. The image in the mirror is the same as it was before. Although if anything, I look more powerful than I did last time. 

"Well?" Quirrell presses. "What do you see, boy?" 

"I see myself surrounded by my family and friends," I say. "And I'm the most powerful wizard in the world." 

"Ambitious, are you?" Quirrell says, giving a wry grin. "Perhaps you should have been in Slytherin, then." 

"I don't think the school houses are intended to be the ultimate gauge of a person's personality, nor determine their path in life," I reply dryly. "Besides, I could have easily been in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, too. The hat told me so." 

"But what of the Stone?" Quirrell says. "Do you see anything of the Stone in the mirror?" 

I shake my head. "Nope," I say. "Not a sign of it, I'm afraid." 

The strange voice says, "He's warding his mind. He could be lying. So young, he must be a natural Occlumens. Let me see him for myself..." 

Have my Occlumency skills really progressed to the point where I can keep the Dark Lord himself out if he's not looking into my eyes? It _has_ become second nature to me to keep it up all the time without even really thinking about it anymore. 

Professor Quirrell reaches up and unwraps the turban from around his head, and turns around. There's a face on the back of his head. A terrible face, a horrifying sight. Misshapen and monstrous, with sinister red eyes. I quickly avert my gaze. I don't want to make Legilimency easy on him, even if I'm _not_ lying about the Stone. It would be disastrous if he found out the truth about me. I focus upon my mental wards. The eye of the storm. Nothing will get through if I have anything to say about it. 

"Harry Potter..." hisses the face. "See what's become of me? I'm but a shadow of my former self. I've been strengthened by unicorn blood, but once I have the Philosopher's Stone, I shall be able to have a body of my own once more with the help of the Elixir of Life." 

"You..." I say, "... are a very bad person. And I won't help you." 

"Don't play the fool," Voldemort says. "Why don't you save your own life, and join with me? There's no need to throw your own life away, like your parents did." 

"Better to die than to join you," I say. 

"Such touching bravery," Voldemort says. "I killed your father first, you know. He was courageous and defiant until the end. But your mother... she died trying to protect you. Now, do you want her to have died in vain?" 

She did die in vain already. But no. Voldemort hasn't found out my secret yet. He must not find out my secret. I surround my mind in rage, in hopes that he will think I'm upset about "my" parents. 

"Don't talk to me about my family," I say coldly. 

"And if you will not be convinced to cooperate, then I will simply kill you and be done with it," Voldemort says. "I will not warn you again, boy. Bend your knee to me, or you will die." 

"Then I will die," I say grimly. Maybe on the next run, I can figure out a way to stop him. A better spell to use against him when I get the opportunity. Someone else to bring along who might help. Something. Anything. I know I can get in again. 

"Very well, Potter," Voldemort says. "Don't say I didn't give you the opportunity. Quirrell! Finish him. Now." 

"Yes, Master," Quirrell says. He turns around and raises his wand toward me. I brace myself, clenching my teeth and closing my eyes. 

_Pain_. Terrible agony. Can't breathe. I collapse. It's over in moments. 

* * *

I wake. I just need another try, damn it. Just one more try. I'll figure out some way to beat him. 

I'm so tired. I fall out of bed and hit the floor face first. Where are my potions? There. I pull out a Wideye Potion and guzzle it down. Not good enough. Still tired. I drink down a second one. A third. A fourth. 

My heart is racing. Blood pounding in my veins. Head is buzzing. I feel like I'm about to explode. Too much. Twitching. Everything goes black again. 

* * *

I wake. What just happened? So tired. Need potions. No. I think I drank too many potions. Damn it. I can't do it like this. And I can't sleep now. Can't sleep. I'll miss my chance. Voldemort will get the Stone. I have to stop him. How can I stop him? I can hardly move. 

I climb out of bed and collapse on the floor. Desperately trying to stay awake. Can't sleep now. Must not sleep. But I can hardly move. I can't do it. Can't do it. 

I try to get to my feet. Stumbling. Two steps. Falling. _Smack_. I hit the floor. No use. It's no use. I can't do this. 

"Harry!" It's Neville's voice. Footsteps, running up to my side. "Harry, are you alright?" 

"Neville," I gasp. 

"I'll get you to the hospital wing," Neville says. 

"No," I croak. "Neville. Listen to me. You have to... you have to... go see Snape--" 

"What?" Neville says incredulously. 

"Tell him," I rasp. "Tell him the Stone is in danger. The Dark Lord is after it. Tell him. Please, tell him." 

"But, isn't Snape working for the Dark Lord and trying to steal the Stone himself?" Neville says. 

"No!" I insist. "Please, trust me, Neville. The Dark Lord... possessed Quirrell... You've got to tell Snape. And... and tell him... _Stormseeker_. He'll know what it means. Please, Neville. Please. You're my only hope." 

Before I can even hear his reply, I pass out. 

* * *

I wake. I look up at the ceiling. This isn't the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Where am I? I think I'm in the hospital wing. What am I doing here? How did I get here? 

Then I remember what happened before I passed out, and my heart sinks. Did Neville listen to me? Did Snape get to Quirrell in time to stop him? I try to sit upright. 

"Now, don't try to move yet," Madam Pomfrey says. "Relax, and take it easy." 

I lay back on the bed, letting out a heavy sigh. No help for it. Success or failure, it's too late to change it now. "How long have I been out?" 

"Three days, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey replies. "Severe magical exhaustion. I don't know what you were doing, but it drained every drop from you." 

So it's not just how long I've been awake, but every time I go back, it costs me some energy as well. That would explain why the Wideye Potions could only do so much. They couldn't replenish my mana reserves. 

Shortly, Professor Dumbledore and Snape arrive. Dumbledore says, "Madam Pomfrey, if you would, we must speak with young Mr. Potter in private." 

"Of course, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey says, heading off to give us some space. 

Snape mutters a quick " _Muffliato_ ", and looks me over appraisingly. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to learn that I was able to stop Quirrell per your warning." 

I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the gods," I say. "I was worried that Neville wouldn't listen to me." 

"Yes, well, Mr. Longbottom looked as though he were about to soil himself just from the effort of attempting to speak with me," Snape says dryly. 

"You need not worry about the Stone any longer," Dumbledore says. "You can relax. Your friends have apparently been quite worried about you." He gestures toward a table beside me, which is piled up with sweets. "I believe it was the Weasley twins who attempted to send you a toilet seat, but Madam Pomfrey confiscated it." 

I smile broadly. I'm definitely going to have to trade secrets with them. That map of theirs would no doubt come in handy. 

"Tell me, Stormseeker," Snape says. "Did you attempt to track down the Stone yourself?" 

"Yes, sir," I reply. "Then I found out that Quirrell was possessed, and he killed me." 

"Awfully foolish of you to attempt to take on a grown wizard, even if it _was_ Quirrell," Snape says. 

I smirk, and say, "With that stutter, I didn't think he'd have even managed to get a spell off. How was I to know that he was faking it the whole time to cover up being possessed?" 

"You have a point," Snape says, smirking right back. "But, tell me. _How many_ times did you die down there?" 

"Um..." I say. I count them mentally. "Seven," I reply sheepishly. I don't count the overdose on Wideye Potions. 

"That would explain the magical exhaustion, I imagine," Dumbledore says. 

Snape sighs. "Stubborn, foolish, reckless boy." 

"Hey, I've never had this happen before, either," I say. "How was I to know that it would do this?" 

"Now you know," Dumbledore says. "And I would advise you to be more cautious in the future. Or the past. Or wherever and whenever you might find yourself. Sooner or later, this may lead you into a situation that you cannot get out of." 

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. "Point taken." I pause for a moment, looking up at them. "What's going to happen with the Stone?" I ask. 

"It will be destroyed," Dumbledore says. 

"Oh," I say, disappointed. Well, I can't say I really expected anything else. I didn't even manage to get my hands on it myself, after all. I did so want to study it, though, and I'm certain that the Weasley twins would have had some fun playing with it. But perhaps it's just as well. Maybe one of these lifetimes, I'll figure out how to make one of my own. 

"You didn't really want it, did you?" Snape asks. 

"No, not really," I say. "I just wanted to study it." 

"You don't have nearly the foundation in alchemy to have any hope of comprehending such an object," Snape points out. 

"Yeah, I know," I say. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps another time." 

"Voldemort has been foiled this time," Dumbledore says. "But he is not gone for good. His spirit remains, lingering in this world, ever seeking a means to return to his former power. We must always be diligent if we are to keep him at bay." 

"I do hope that he at least lets me get through school before causing too much more trouble," I grumble. "I hate feeling helpless. I want to be able to _fight_." 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle as he looks down at me. "You will get your day, my dear boy," he says. "For now, you should rest. Madam Pomfrey estimates another couple days before you are fully recovered." 

Snape and Dumbledore leave again. A bit later, I convince Madam Pomfrey to allow my friends to visit. Ron and Neville storm in, looking quite relieved to see me alright. 

"I thought you were going to _die_ right there in the dorm!" Neville says. 

"You really had us worried, mate," Ron says. 

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "But, I'm proud of you, Neville. Thank you. You saved us all..." 

Neville's face flushes. "I-- I thought you might've gone completely bonkers at first. But you were so serious. How could I refuse?" 

"Yeah," Ron says. "Still, going to _Snape_ for help? And how did you know Dumbledore would be out of the castle? I did try to find him as well, when I found out what was going on." 

"I knew Snape could be trusted," I say. "He's kind of rough at times, but he means well. And honestly, if I had to teach a batch of dunderheads like us, I'd get impatient with us too. I _know_ I'm lousy at Potions." 

"Well, you might have a point," Ron says. "Still, _Snape_? I can't believe it turned out you were actually right about that! Who would have thought _Quirrell_ of all people would turn out that way?" 

"So, are you going to tell us what happened?" Neville says. "Why'd you pass out like that? And how'd you know about Quirrell?" 

"Um..." I stammer. I don't really want to lie to them, but the truth? No way. The fewer people know about that, the better. "I had... a dream." 

"You were dreaming about You-Know-Who?" Ron says. "That sucks." 

"Well, just as well that I was, since I realized what he was up to," I say. "Maybe I've got, like, a connection to him, or something. Because of my scar. Or something. I don't know." It sounds like a really lame excuse, to my ears. Who ever heard of such a thing? But they seem to buy it. 

"Alright, boys, that's enough!" Madam Pomfrey says. "Mr. Potter needs his rest. Away with you now, shoo!" 

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Neville says dejectedly, and the two of them leave. 

All things considered, despite the fact that Quirrell was stopped, I'm going to have to consider this one a failure on my part. It was only because of Neville and Snape that the Dark Lord isn't free to roam the world again. All I did was foolishly get myself killed over and over, and then pass out when it proved to be too much. I'm really glad that Neville was there. I resolve never to put myself in such a situation again.


	12. Elven Summer

Arrangements for the summer must be made. I don't have any home that I can go to, and it wouldn't do to be hidden away at Hogwarts again. The unique circumstances I had with Dumbledore familiarizing me with this world don't apply this year. So we'll need to decide upon someplace for me to stay. 

As it turns out, it's not much of a matter for discussion or debate. As soon as the Weasleys find out that I'm not intending on returning to the States for the holidays, they insist that I must spend the summer with them. 

And exam results come out. I did about as well as I expected to. Not the top of my class or anything, but decent enough not to be completely embarrassing. 

Then, our trunks are packed, and we all pile aboard the Hogwarts Express to be taken back to London. It's a relaxing, quiet ride without incident, and I can definitely appreciate that. 

We get off the train at King's Cross Station, and I spot Mrs. Weasley's brightly smiling face in the crowd on the platform. I head over to greet her along with Ron. 

"There you are!" Molly Weasley says. "You've both grown so much over the year!" 

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," I say. "Thank you for inviting me to stay with your family for the summer holidays." 

"Oh, it's the least I can do!" Molly says. "Have you seen the twins and Percy? Ah! There they are!" 

We collect our five trunks, and make our way out of the station. The Weasleys' father, Arthur, is waiting for us by their vehicle, along with the little sister, Ginny. I peer at the strange contraption a bit. I've never seen anything quite like this before. It's made of metal, painted blue, and has four wheels made of some unidentifiable black substance. 

"What in the world is this strange metal carriage?" I wonder aloud. 

Arthur laughs softly. "Never seen a Muggle automobile before?" he says. "Marvelous creations! This one's got some enchantments on it, though. Don't worry, there'll be plenty of room for everyone inside." 

"Automobile," I repeat dumbly. 

We pile our school trunks in the compartment called the 'boot' for some reason, and we all climb inside. Sure enough, the seats magically extend to make room for us all. Arthur drives us away. 

"How does it move?" I wonder. "There's nothing pulling it. Is it spelled to move by magic?" 

"Nope!" Arthur replies. "Well, it's charmed to not require any fuel, but the movement itself is done by the motor inside." 

"Wow, really?" I say incredulously. "Muggles can do that?" 

"Pretty neat, isn't it?" Arthur says. 

We travel out to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and to the home of the Weasleys, a place called the Burrow. It's a ramshackle building, looking to have been thrown together with spit and magic, that otherwise seems in danger of collapsing at any moment. This is where the Weasleys live? Oh, man, I hope this place looks better on the inside than it does on the outside. I shouldn't judge, I suppose. Not everyone can live in a manor, after all, and they did graciously invite me to stay here. 

We head inside. Yeah, the place isn't really any better on the inside. It's small and cramped, although clean. Ron shows me up to his room, which I'll be sharing with him. It bothered me at first, to have to share a room with someone else, but after spending the last year in a dorm, I'm used to having Ron sleeping nearby. Everything in here is a garish shade of orange, and there's a number of posters of one particular Quidditch team. 

"It's a bit on the small side," Ron says sheepishly. "And there's a ghoul in the attic right overhead. He likes to bang on the pipes and groan a lot." 

I'm already kind of dreading having agreed to stay here for the summer, and considering spending next year with the Longbottoms or something. But I keep my thoughts to myself and smile graciously at Ron. "It's not a problem," I say. "I'm grateful to you guys for inviting me." 

I try to think positively. At least, even if the house itself leaves something to be desired, I'll be around good people. I'd much rather be here than at Malfoy Manor, that's for sure. 

* * *

Ottery St. Catchpole is a Muggle village, but some other wizarding families live in the vicinity as well. One of them runs the store where the Weasleys get most of their groceries, which is convenient since they'll happily take both wizard and Muggle money. I'm eager to get out and see some new things now that I'm not cooped up at Hogwarts, so I head down to the village with Percy for shopping. While there, he tries to give me an explanation as to how Muggle money works. 

"Why do I need to know about Muggle money?" I wonder. 

"It's important to learn the ways of the world," Percy lectures. "You never know when you have know how to get by in the Muggle world." 

"I'll take your world on that," I say. "But why do they use _paper_ for money? What's stopping me from just transfiguring or duplicating some of these paper notes and buying whatever I want?" 

"That would be highly dishonest," Percy replies. "And besides, they have complex images on them that would be difficult to replicate perfectly." 

"If you say so," I say. I think I'm more comfortable just using wizard money when I can. I don't need to start trying to memorize even more money systems too! 

But I like buying things. I never had much chance to go shopping, back at home. It's fun to pile up things to get, and count out the appropriate amount of coins. 

"What's this?" Mrs. Weasley says, looking over the heap of groceries that I've brought in. 

"Groceries," I reply. "Don't worry, I made sure to get plenty of fruits and vegetables too!" 

"Did you pay for this yourself?" Mrs. Weasley asks. 

"Huh?" I say, "Oh, yeah." 

"That's nice of you, Harry, but the Weasleys don't need any charity," Mrs. Weasley says. 

I look at her in puzzlement. "Charity?" I wonder. "What are you talking about?" 

"Well, we don't need to take handouts from anyone," she goes on. "We go alright on our own." 

"Handouts?" I say. "But you're letting me stay here over the summer. What's wrong with buying food that I'll be eating anyway?" 

"You're our _guest_ , Harry," Mrs. Weasley says. "We didn't ask you to pay rent or anything." 

"Huh?" I say. "I'm a guest? I thought, well, we're practically family, right? What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine? I don't see what the big deal is..." 

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley says, hugging me suddenly. 

I have no idea what that was all about, but she doesn't complain about me buying copious amounts of groceries again. 

* * *

The Weasleys throw a birthday party for me on July 31st. Neville even manages to get permission from his grandmother to come over. Neville's own birthday was the previous day, but that was a much smaller affair, with just me and Ron there in addition to his grandmother. For my birthday, Mrs. Weasley baked a big cake and everything, and there's a small pile of presents. Grinning broadly, I start to open them under the eager eyes of my friends. 

Mrs. Weasley knitted me a lovely green sweater. "A Weasley sweater!" Ron exclaims. "Usually we get them as Christmas presents. I guess it's to make up for the lack of one last Christmas?" 

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," I say, smiling warmly at her and slipping it on, despite it being the middle of summer. 

From Ron, I've received a box of Chocolate Frogs. Percy got me a homework planner. Neville gives me a book on defensive charms. Mr. Weasley's present is a weird little Muggle contraption that I can't identify, and I doubt that Mr. Weasley entirely knows what it's for, either. From the twins... a tiny miniature toilet. 

"Fred! George! You didn't!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims. 

"No, Mum, it's real handy!" George insists. 

"Check this out!" Fred adds. He puts the toilet on the floor and taps the top of it with his wand, and the toilet expands into full size. It even surrounds itself with privacy curtains decorated in Gryffindor red and gold. Another tap, and it shrinks back down to the size of a thumbnail again. 

"We call it a Pocket Privy," George says. 

"Never have to go in the bushes!" Fred says. 

"Wow, that's neat," I say, pocketing the little toilet. 

Mrs. Weasley just sighs longsufferingly. I go to look through the rest of my presents, from people who aren't here today. Hagrid sent me a bunch of those rock cakes he thinks I love. From Dumbledore, a bag full of sherbet lemons. And finally, from Snape, a book on potion-making theory, along with a note that reads, "Try to do better in my class next year. P.S. Dumbledore's sherbet lemons contain a mild Calming Draught." I have to snicker softly at that. Maybe I'll save them for when I need to cool my nerves a little. 

After the party, I head upstairs to put my bounty away in Ron's room. And there, sitting on my bed, is an ugly little person with long ears, like the ones at Hogwarts. A house-elf, Dumbledore told me once. Not any sort of elf I'm familiar with, but Dumbledore said that they love to cook and clean and serve their wizard masters in general. It sounded a lot like slavery to me, but I opted to hold my tongue and not to judge, as the ones at Hogwarts seemed pretty happy. 

This house-elf looks to be wearing an old pillowcase, and he gives me a deep bow when he sees me. "Harry Potter!" he exclaims. "Such an honor for Dobby to meet you!" 

"Well," I say. "Hello, Dobby. What are you doing here? I didn't think the Weasleys had a house-elf." 

"Oh, no," Dobby says. "Dobby not belong to Wheezeys. Dobby has something to tell you." 

"Well, alright, then," I say. "Though if someone wanted to give me a message, they could have just owled me, rather than sending their house-elf to do it..." 

"No, no," Dobby says. "Not from Dobby's family, sir." He starts to bang his head against the wall, and my eyes widen in alarm. 

"What are you doing, Dobby?" I say. "Stop that!" 

"Dobby must punish himself!" Dobby says. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family!" 

I snort softly. "So don't do that, then," I say. "Who is your family, by the way?" 

"Dobby mustn't say. Dobby will have to punish himself for coming to see you, too. Dobby is always having to punish himself. Sometimes they tell Dobby to give himself extra punishments, too." 

Blood boils up in my veins at this sort of treatment, and I clench my fists. "Dobby, why did you come to see me if you're going to have to punish yourself for doing it?" 

"Dobby hears all about Harry Potter," Dobby says. "You is great wizard!" 

"I don't think I've exactly done anything particularly great," I comment dryly. I didn't even manage to stop Quirrell myself, after all. 

"Harry Potter is humble and modest!" Dobby exclaims. "But Dobby comes to warn great Harry Potter. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts! He will be in mortal danger if he goes!" 

I sigh. "I think I can handle a little mortal danger, Dobby," I say. "Don't worry about me." 

"Harry Potter is so brave!" Dobby says. "But Harry Potter must stay here at the Burrow, where it's safe!" 

Ron comes up the stairs and into the room just then, and stops in the doorway to stare at the house-elf in the center of the room. "Blimey, what's a house-elf doing here?" 

"Trying to tell me not to go back to Hogwarts, for some reason," I say, sighing. "Ron, do you happen to know a way to find out who a house-elf belongs to? Dobby won't say." 

Ron shakes his head. "No, but I'll ask Mum. She might have a thought." I wave him off, and Ron goes back downstairs, leaving me alone with the house-elf. Who is punishing himself against the floor now. 

"What is it _now_ , Dobby?" I ask. 

"Dobby must punish himself!" Dobby exclaims, banging his head into the floor. "Bad Dobby, bad bad!" 

"Stop that, Dobby," I snap. "I want you to answer my questions now. So, you can't tell me who owns you?" 

"Dobby is sorry. Dobby can't tell." 

"Can we play a guessing game, then?" I suggest. "And you nod or shake your head?" 

"Um..." Dobby says. "Dobby can do that." 

"Alright," I say. "Does this family have a child at Hogwarts?" Dobby nods. "In my year?" He nods again. "In Gryffindor?" Dobby shakes his head. "Slytherin?" Dobby nods. "I see. Is your family the Malfoys?" Dobby nods his head uneasily, shaking now. "Alright, then." 

Ron returns up the stairs and says, "Sorry, Mum doesn't know." 

"That's alright," I say. "I just figured it out myself. He's one of the Malfoys' house-elves." 

Ron's jaw drops. "Why would... why would the _Malfoys_..." 

"I don't think they sent him," I say. "It seems he's here without permission." 

Dobby starts hitting his head against the wall again. "Bad Dobby!" 

I sigh again and rub my temples. "Dobby, stop doing that in our room," I say. "I've heard your warning and will take it into consideration. For now, why don't you go home?" 

Dobby looks disappointed. It's like kicking a puppy. I hate seeing him like this. "Dobby will go. Dobby hopes great Harry Potter listen to warning and stay safe away from Hogwarts." He vanishes. 

"What a headache," I mutter, and head downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley. 

She's currently in the kitchen, doing a bit of cleaning. "What's this about a house-elf?" 

"A house-elf belonging to the Malfoys, of all people," I say. "Warning me about how dangerous it would be go to back to Hogwarts. I guess he heard about something the Malfoys were planning and decided to try to warn me in some vague way." 

"Hmm," Mrs. Weasley says. "He must have managed to find enough loopholes in their orders to do so." 

"Personally, I'm impressed that he had the guts to do something like that," I say. "Hmm. Is there any way I would be able to 'acquire' him from the Malfoys?" 

"I imagine it would be expensive, if you could even convince them to sell," Mrs. Weasley says. "The only other way would be to get them to give him clothes somehow, which seems equally unlikely." 

"Still, I ought to try," I say. "I hate to see the poor little guy abused so. He seemed really miserable." 

I doubt that I'd manage to be convincing or diplomatic enough on my own. I get Percy to help me draft my letter to the Malfoys. At least he has the tact and common sense to advise me not to insult Draco or his parents openly in the message. And for Dobby's sake, we also make sure not to make it sound like I'm interested in any particular house-elf. 

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

Greetings. I am one of your son, Draco's, classmates. I am certain that you have heard of me in other contexts, however, so I need not repeat those. I'm told I am also the second cousin of Mrs. Malfoy, as well. 

I have just turned twelve years old, and am looking to make considerations for my future, and to rebuild my household. To that end, I am looking to acquiring a house-elf. They are wonderful, useful creatures, and I certainly would not wish to be doing such menial tasks as housework and cooking myself. How many house-elves does your family have? Do you know where I could acquire one of my own? 

Sincerely, Harry Potter 

That'll do nicely enough. Neutral, cordial, and polite. I'm really leery about doing this when I still owe Draco a 'favor', but I'll just have to deal with the fallout from that as it comes, I suppose. I send the message off with Solomon, and head to bed. 

* * *

A letter comes in from the Malfoys for me the next day at dinner. 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

It's good to hear from you directly. I've heard many things regarding you from Draco, but I regret that we have not had the opportunity to speak with one another personally as of yet. 

I'm glad to hear a bright young man preparing for his future. Are you intending on moving into the ancestral Potter mansion? It has been empty for some time, I believe. Your father did not care for it, and once his parents passed on, no one else moved into the place. 

We have five house-elves at Malfoy Manor. They are, indeed, useful creatures, although troublesome at times. You must always be certain to keep them on a short leash. There used to be a large market for house-elf breeding in this country, but it was unfortunately shut down decades ago. Currently, the only way to obtain one without going international is from another wizarding family, and the current breeding pool is very small. 

I would perhaps be willing to part with one of our house-elves. It would please me if you could come to Malfoy Manor to discuss the matter in person. Is next Saturday good for you? 

Sincerely, Lucius Malfoy 

I read over the letter again, then a third time, and then have Percy and Mrs. Weasley read over it. It certainly sounds positive enough. I'm paranoid, however, and I don't think my luck is _that_ good. 

"I don't know that I like the idea of you visiting Malfoy Manor," Mrs. Weasley says. "It could be dangerous." 

"I know," I say. "But it's my best chance to save Dobby." 

"Still, Arthur should at least go with you to keep you safe," Mrs. Weasley suggests. 

I can't really argue with that sentiment. "Good idea," I say. I go to jot off a note accepting Mr. Malfoy's invitation, and send Solomon off with it. 

* * *

Arthur Weasley and I Floo over to Malfoy Manor on the appointed day. At least Mr. Weasley has robes that don't make him look like a bum. Apparently he works for the Ministry of Magic, so I suppose he'd have to have some decent-looking clothing. Still, I have to wonder if I might have managed to make a better impression if I came by myself, or perhaps asked Snape to accompany me. That might have been a better idea. 

"Ah, good day to you, Mr. Potter," Lucius Malfoy says. "So good to finally meet you in person." 

I give a polite bow. "The pleasure is mine, I assure you, sir." 

"I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Narcissa," Mr. Malfoy says, gesturing to the well-dressed blonde woman behind him. "And you are already acquainted with my son, Draco." Draco is sneering at me in an expression clearly indicated that he _hasn't_ forgotten about our little deal. 

Aside from a disdainful look or two, Lucius Malfoy does his best to pretend that Arthur Weasley isn't present. We make small talk for a bit, and then Mr. Malfoy calls in the family house-elves to show me. 

"And these are Tinky, Muffy, Curry, Dobby, and Glod," Mr. Malfoy says. Dobby's eyes are wide as he looks up at me, but he says nothing to indicate that we've met before. At least he has _some_ spark of common sense. "Muffy is gravid, so she isn't available at this time, but I would be willing to part with any of the others for the sake of a fine, upstanding young gentleman as yourself. Or if you're willing to wait a few years, perhaps you'd be interested in Muffy's offspring instead? You'll be spending the next several years at school anyway, after all." 

"Hmm, no," I say. "I think I'd like one of the adult ones." I look over the house-elves appraisingly, examining each one with a critical eye. "How about... Dobby?" 

"Ah, he is a bit of a troublesome one," Mr. Malfoy says. "You might find yourself with your hands full with him. Might I recommend Tinky instead? She is always well-behaved and knows her place, and you'd be able to start breeding your own kennel of house-elves with the use of an appropriate stud." 

I chuckle softly. "Trouble, is he?" I say. "Well, I don't mind a little trouble, now and then. I think he'd work just fine." 

"If you are certain," Mr. Malfoy says. "I would normally ask for a thousand galleons for a young, healthy, well-trained house-elf, but I couldn't possibly ask for that much for such an ill-tempered creature. Tell you what, I'll give him to you for a mere five hundred galleons." 

"Quite the bargain," I say, nodding to him. "That is acceptable." 

We make all the necessary arrangements, and I send word to Gringotts to have the appropriate sum transfered to the Malfoys' vault. This seems almost too easy. Despite feeling good about helping out poor Dobby, I can't help but shake the dreadful paranoia that something bad may yet come of this all. 

* * *

The next day, Dobby appears in the Burrow at breakfast. "Dobby is here to serve the great Harry Potter!" He seems almost beside himself with glee. 

I beam at him. "So, Dobby," I say. "Can you tell me now what sort of hideous danger the Malfoys have planned for the upcoming school year?" 

Dobby looks confused. "Dobby not know what Master Harry is talking about." 

"You came to warn me about something a week ago," I say. "But you couldn't tell me what it was." 

"Oh..." Dobby says. "Dobby not know." 

Mrs. Weasley sighs, and says, "They probably Obliviated him before sending him over, to make sure he couldn't spill any of their secrets." 

"Dobby has failed new master already!" Dobby says, starting to bang his head against the floor. "Dobby must punish himself!" 

"No, Dobby!" I snap. "Stop! I forbid you from punishing yourself." Dobby stops what he's doing and looks at me wide-eyed. "I'll decide if something really warrants punishment." 

"Yes, great Master Harry," Dobby says. "Dobby not punish himself anymore." 

"Good," I say. "Now, seeing as I'm staying here at the Burrow for the summer, you can help out around here a bit. I'll be gone most of the year at Hogwarts, so I'd like you to stay here unless I need you for something in particular." 

"Dobby will be very helpful!" Dobby says beaming. "It look like there lots for Dobby to do here!" 

Mrs. Weasley coughs lightly and decides not to take offense at that. "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind having a house-elf around, but he's _your_ house-elf, Harry." 

"And I'm here right now," I say. "And I'll be at school in a month, so I won't really need him for much there. He might as well make himself useful in the meantime. Can't be letting him get bored and depressed." 

Far from being depressed, Dobby looks as though he's never been happier. Much as I hate the idea of 'owning' another intelligent being, the least I can do is take one out of a bad situation that he obviously is miserable in and wants out of, even if he's forbidden to express that. 

That reminds me. "And another thing, Dobby," I say. "I'd like you to speak your mind. Don't be afraid to say whatever you'd like about me. If you think I'm crazy, say so. If you're unhappy about something, tell me." 

Dobby's eyes widen again, and he's quiet for a few moments before saying softly, "Dobby think Great Master Harry Potter shouldn't annoy Old Master Lucius..." 

"Thanks, Dobby," I say graciously. "I'll take your opinion under consideration." 

Dobby bursts into tears. "Dobby so happy!" he cries. "Great Master Harry too good to Dobby!" 

I have to smirk a little at that. "Well, you'd best get used to being thanked and treated politely and respectfully," I say, grinning broadly. "Because I won't have it any other way." 

I can deal with the Malfoys. It's worth it to see this little house-elf happy.


	13. Loony

Our letters from school arrive, detailing the list of books and supplies that we'll need for the upcoming school year. Hmm. A full set of books about monsters, by Gilderoy Lockhart? Upon comparing notes with the Weasleys, we discover that the same books have been assigned to every year. 

"Oh, this is going to be expensive," Mrs. Weasley murmurs. 

I frown deeply at that thought. Are all of these books really necessary? And who is this Gilderoy Lockhart fellow? He sounds like he must know an awful lot about magical creatures, if he's written this many books. 

We Floo over to Diagon Alley for our school shopping. I fall out of the fireplace on the far end. I think I'm never going to get used to that method of travel. Our first stop is at Gringotts to withdraw some money for today's purchases. At the Weasley vault, there's only a small pile of primarily sickles, and Mrs. Weasley shoves the lot of it into her bag. At my own vault heaping with golden galleons, I grab a fair amount, more than I think I'll need. 

After wandering around collecting supplies, we finally come to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. There's a sign outside proclaiming that Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography today. Well, that's awfully nice of him. I'm going to have to meet this man. I imagine he can tell me a lot about combat magic. 

We go inside, and I get my first glimpse of Gilderoy Lockhart. He's a handsome man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes, wearing blue robes that match his eye color. He glances up and sees me, and exclaims, "If it isn't Harry Potter!" Gilderoy grabs my arm and practically drags me to the front. A little man aims a strange device at us, emitting smoke and clicking sounds. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I say. 

"I have an announcement to make!" Gilderoy says. "When Harry stepped into this shop, he only intended to buy my biography, _Magical Me_ \--" 

"--actually I was going to buy all your books," I mutter. 

"--but little did he realize that he and his classmates would soon be getting the real magical me, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!" 

"Wow, really?" I say. This has got to be better than a stuttering buffoon who happens to be possessed by a Dark Lord. At least this fellow is nicer to look at and doesn't smell funny. 

Gilderoy -- or perhaps I should say Professor Lockhart -- presents me with a free copy of his autobiography, as well as each of his books. I let him monopolize me a little longer, and then beg off, saying that I still have a lot of school shopping left to do. 

I haul the stack of books over to Ron and mutter, "You can have these. I'll buy my own." 

We head out and scour the alley for the remainder of our school supplies. We split up and agree to meet up later, so I head off with Ron, who wants to drag me off to look at broomsticks. I'm not especially thrilled at the prospect, but I'm happy for the chance to be away from the smothering Weasleys for a little while. 

"Would you look at that," Ron says. "The Nimbus 2001. Wicked, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, sure," I say disinterestedly. "Tell you what, if you ever make the Quidditch team, I'll buy you a top-of-the-line broom of your own." 

"I don't think that's likely to happen anytime soon, anyway," Ron says, a little dejectedly. 

Enough of this. I'm going to go look at something more interesting. I creep over into a corner out of sight and pull out my invisibility cloak. 

"Where are you going?" Ron asks. 

"I'm going to Knockturn Alley to look at things I'm not supposed to be," I say. "Cover for me, will you?" 

Ron stares at my vanishing form for a moment and snickers softly. "Sure, mate." 

I slip out of the store and across Diagon Alley, carefully avoiding bumping into anyone along the way. The cloak might be a bit of overkill, but it wouldn't do for Mrs. Weasley or Percy to spot me heading into Knockturn Alley. I'm sure they'd give me a good chewing out if they caught me going into this place. 

I find myself in Borgin and Burke's again, and look around. It looks like Frozen Viper is still on display. I make sure not to go anywhere near it. That damned thing might just kill me even if I were to merely accidentally brush against it. I'm not taking the chance today. I go over to the opposite corner of the store to examine a rather creepy mask. It seems like it's staring right back at me. I wonder what it does? 

Bump! I go sprawling out onto the floor, my cloak half falling off of me. 

"Hey, who's there?" demands a familiar voice. 

Crap. Cover blown. I pull off my invisibility cloak and quickly tuck it away, and look up into the face of Draco Malfoy. "Hello, Draco," I say coolly. 

"Harry Potter?" Draco says a little incredulously. "What are _you_ , of all people, doing in this part of wizarding London?" 

"Shopping," I reply vaguely. 

Draco snickers softly. "I wouldn't expect the likes of _you_ to have such tastes." 

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" I say, smirking. "At least I got away from the Weasleys for a bit." 

"Why are you with _them_ , anyway?" Draco says. 

"I'm spending the summer with them," I reply. "Although, to be perfectly honest, if I had realized that they lived in a barn, I'd have found somewhere else to stay." 

Draco chuckles. "Now, what is that you were sneaking around with, anyway?" 

I reluctantly pull out my invisibility cloak from my robes. He's already noticed it anyway, and whatever might be said of Draco, he's not dumb. "It's an invisibility cloak," I say. "Used to belong to my father." 

Draco examines it carefully. "That's quite a nice one. Very finely made," he observes. "And you say it hasn't faded in all these years? They don't usually last that long." He pauses and looks at me with a sinister look in his eye. "I want it." 

"What?" I say. 

"You owe me a favor, Potter," Draco says. "Give me your cloak and we're even." 

"I can't do that," I say. "I promised the Weasley twins that they could borrow it whenever they want to use it." 

"Tough," Draco says. "That's your problem. Tell them what you like, but you're going to give me that cloak, or else." 

I sigh. I'm reluctant to part with the cloak. It's very useful, after all. But a promise is a promise. "Fine," I say, handing it over to him. "Have fun with that, then." 

Draco grins positively gleefully as he runs his hands over _my_ cloak. I just look at him coldly before turning to head out of the shop quickly, and storm back toward Diagon Alley, hoping that nobody spots where I'm coming out of. Maybe if I'd been thinking ahead, I might have asked that he let me keep it long enough to sneak back into the broom shop where I'd left Ron. As it is, sure enough, Mrs. Weasley catches me coming out of Knockturn Alley and intercepts me. 

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley scolds. "What in the world were you doing in _that_ sort of place?" 

"I got lost," I lie. 

Mrs. Weasley isn't buying it. "Harry, that is a very dangerous place for a boy your age to be going, especially by yourself! You don't know what sort of people you might meet in such a place. And you might run across horrible cursed items in some of those questionable kinds of shops." 

"I ran into Draco Malfoy," I say quietly. 

Mrs. Weasley frowns deeply at that. "Harry, promise me that you won't go running off like that again. You'll have me worried sick if you do things like that!" 

I look at the ground guilty and murmur reflexively, "Sorry, Mum." 

Mrs. Weasley suddenly softens and draws me into a sudden hug. "Oh, Harry." I wonder what's gotten into her, but I won't complain. 

I can't promise that I won't run off or do questionable things from time to time. That would be dishonest. I'd never make a promise that I didn't intend to keep, and I'm glad that she got too distracted with hugging me to try to extract a real promise from me, rather than simply an apology. 

"Tell you what," I say. "Why don't I treat you all to ice cream as an apology for sneaking off to places I'm not supposed to go?" 

"Harry, that's bribery," Mrs. Weasley says gently. 

"No, that's family," I reply. 

"Oh, alright, alright," Mrs. Weasley says, hugging me again. 

I can't wait until school starts up again. I love the Weasleys to death and all, but I have a feeling that they might wind up loving _me_ to death from suffocation. I've died in some pretty embarrassing ways, but that would _really_ take the cake. But hey, at least I managed a trip into Knockturn Alley without dying this time. Yeah, the result was actually worse than dying this time. Maybe I should just remember to avoid the place. Nothing good ever comes of it. 

* * *

The summer finally ends, and the day arrives for us to go to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express. We all stuff our trunks into Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia and pile inside. We wind up needing to go back a couple times to fetch Fred's broom and Ginny's diary, and we barely manage to make it onto the train in time. 

"I thought we were going to miss the train," Ron says, panting as we head down the corridor looking for seats. 

"You know, we could have just all packed the night before, and made sure we had everything before leaving the Burrow," I say, chuckling. "But that would be too easy and require foresight." 

Percy goes off with the prefects, and Fred and George duck into a compartment with some other members of the house Quidditch team. The rest of us manage to find a compartment occupied only by a girl I don't recognize, who appears to be wearing earrings shaped like radishes. Or radishes as earrings, I'm not sure which. 

"Excuse me," I say. "Do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full up." 

"Oh, certainly, come on in, Stormseeker." 

I stumble halfway through sitting down and hit my head on the windowsill. 

"Harry, are you alright?" Ginny says. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. "Just a little clumsy." 

"What did you call him?" Ron asks the strange girl. 

"Stormseeker, of course. That's his title, don't you know?" 

"Right..." I say, rubbing my forehead. Well, at least I'm not likely to wind up with another scar there. "Although most people just call me Harry Potter. What's your name?" 

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she replies. "Some people call me 'Loony', though." 

"She's our neighbor," Ginny says quietly. "She's in the same year as me." 

Luna continues to stare at me with something of a dreamy expression. It reminds me a lot of Keolah. Is this girl a Seeker? Not the Quidditch sort, the Elkandu sort that sees all sorts of things. How did she know my prophetic name just by looking at me? 

"Yeah, people call you loony because they think you're mad," Ron says. "Because you're always saying weird stuff." 

"People don't believe me about the wrackspurts and the nargles either," Luna says distantly. "Even when their heads are clearly infested. They think I'm just making things up." 

"Why would they think that?" I ask. 

Luna shrugs faintly. "It's hard for people to believe things that they don't see for themselves," she replies. 

"That's a rather narrow-minded view," I say. "Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there." 

"See, you understand," Luna says. "I knew you would, Stormseeker. You're not from this dimension, so your mind isn't clouded by what you already believe." 

"I don't know that I'd call America another dimension," Ron says dryly. 

In a way, I'm kind of relieved. Although Luna seems to know exactly who I am and where I'm from, nobody will ever believe her about it. In a way, that's kind of sad, really. She's obviously a Seeker, and can perceive far more than most people can, but instead of revering her power as they should, people instead believe that she's insane. I think back on Keolah... okay, people think that _she's_ crazy, too, but at least they recognize her abilities for what they are. Maybe the people in this universe simply don't know what a Seeker is. That seems entirely likely. I haven't run across any mention in my classes or books so far on any typical Seeking abilities, like scrying or aura reading, and from what I've heard of Divination, that appears to be prophecy rather than anything more immediately useful. 

"Out of curiosity, Stormseeker," Luna says, seeming to look right through me. "What made you decide to be Harry Potter?" 

"Are you daft, girl?" Ron says. "It's not like he had much choice about it." 

"There are always choices," Luna says. 

"That's true," I say thoughtfully. "That's very true." I know that better than anyone, I think. "Even doing or not doing something is still a choice." 

"You could be anyone or go anywhere, Stormseeker," Luna says. "Why did you decide to come to our dimension and be Harry Potter?" 

"It sounded like a good idea at the time?" I say with a shrug. 

"Why are you even humoring her?" Ron asks me. "She's obviously just spouting nonsense." 

"There's no need to be rude, Ron," I say. 

Thankfully, the sweets trolley arrives just then, and I buy enough treats to occupy everyone's mouths for a little bit and delay any complications for a while longer. Mrs. Weasley made Ron some corned beef sandwiches again, so I happily swap them for some Cauldron Cakes and Chocolate Frogs. Ginny quietly slips out to use the restroom. She's obviously not feeling particularly social at the moment. 

"So, Luna," I say. "Tell me about the wrackspurts." 

"They're invisible things that float into your head and make your thoughts get all fuzzy," Luna says. 

"I imagine there must be quite the infestation of them at the Ministry of Magic," I comment lightly. 

"Oh, yes, Stormseeker," Luna says. "How did you know?" 

I snicker softly. "Just a hunch." 

"Oh, come on," Ron says dubiously. "There aren't any invisible whatevers at the Ministry of Magic! That's ridiculous. These things don't exist!" 

Luna blissfully ignores him. "Stormseeker, are you a prophet?" 

"No," I reply. 

"Hmm," Luna says. "You're right. That was the closest thing I could tell from your aura, but it's not quite right. I've never seen anything quite that shade of Time before. Except possibly... Oh! You wouldn't happen to be a time traveler, would you?" 

I grin at her. Definitely a Seeker, and a very perceptive one at that. "I don't think the world is prepared for your truths, Luna," I tell her. 

"No kidding," Ron says. "You think Harry is a time traveler from another dimension! That's just absurd." 

"Don't worry, Luna," I say, winking at her. "I believe you." 

"Mental," Ron says, shaking his head in bewilderment. "You're both mental." 

Luna and I look at Ron for a moment, then look at one another and say in unison, "Wrackspurts." 

We arrive at Hogwarts. Ginny and Luna go off with the other first years, separated off to take boats across the lake. Those of us who are second year and up are led over to some black carriages drawn by rather creepy, demonic horse-like creatures. I climb into one of them along with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. 

"Carriages that go by magic!" Dean says. 

"They must be spelled to move even though nothing is pulling them," Ron says. 

I look at Ron strangely. "Has another wrackspurt gotten to you, Ron?" 

"Huh?" Ron says. 

"Right, I'll take that as a yes," I say. 

"What are you on about, Harry?" Seamus asks. 

"What's a wrackspurt?" Dean wonders. 

"Something Loony Lovegood was going on about," Ron says. "Says they're invisible and only she can see them. As if!" 

"And yet you can't see the creatures pulling the carriages?" I say. 

"What are you talking about?" Ron asks. "What creatures?" 

I smirk, and point out at them. "They're black horse-like creatures with bat-like wings." 

The other three boys peer out to where I'm pointing, then stare at me. "There's nothing there, Harry," Neville says softly. 

I sigh. "Now I know how Luna feels a lot of the time," I mutter. 

The carriages come to a stop at the castle gates, and we climb out. I go up in front of the carriage we rode in and pat the nightmarish steed on the neck. 

"What are you doing, Harry?" Ron wonders. 

"Giving the beastie a pat on the neck," I reply. 

"Mental," Ron mutters. "Completely mental." 

I smirk, and head over to Hagrid, with Ron and Neville trailing along after me. "Good to see you, Harry," Hagrid says. "Up for another year of classes?" 

"You better believe it," I say. "Hagrid, what do you call the creatures that pull the carriages?" 

"Them?" Hagrid says. "Those're called thestrals." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Ron says. "There's nothing there!" 

"You can only see them if you've seen death," Hagrid says. "Most people your age won't be able to see them. But Harry can?" 

"Well, I did see my parents die," I say, frowning a little. All fiction aside, I did see a lot of death during that first terrible day... Assuming that it doesn't count my _own_ deaths, of course. But I've long since accepted that everyone at home is probably dead. 

"That might do it, I suppose," Hagrid says. "Hogwarts has its own herd of thestrals. Ministry thinks they're dangerous, but properly trained, they're the most gentle things you'll ever meet." 

"Wait, you mean there really is something there?" Ron says. 

"That's what I'm telling you," Hagrid says. "You'd best move along, boys. Better get into the Great Hall and seated at your tables before the first years come in for the Sorting." 

We head in and take seats at the Gryffindor table, in time to watch the new incoming first years enter nervously. They each get called up and put on the Sorting Hat one by one, and go off to the tables of their new houses. When "Lovegood, Luna" gets called up, I smile reassuringly over to her. She gets sorted into Ravenclaw. "Weasley, Ginevra" is the last in the year to be sorted, and when she gets "GRYFFINDOR!", the gaggle of redheads around me lets out a collective cheer. 

Ginny comes over to sit down across from me and Ron. "Your name is Ginevra?" I say. 

She nods a little sheepishly. "It's embarrassing, I know..." she murmurs. 

"It's a pretty name," I say. 

Ginny blushes intensely and looks like she wants to sink into the floor.


	14. Dangerous Creatures

The day after arriving back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore calls me into his office. Ah, he must be intending to speak with me about something important. Perhaps my performance last year was less than spectacular, but I'd like to think that I at least managed to accomplish _something_. I did prevent the Dark Lord from getting his... um, protoplasm? on the Philosopher's Stone, after all. Even if it was by dying repeatedly, having Neville tell Snape, and then passing out for three days. Okay, yeah, not my most shining moment, I'll admit. This year will be better, I'm sure. 

"My boy," Dumbledore begins. "Are you aware that there is a dragon being kept in the Forbidden Forest?" 

My heart sinks. So that's what this is about. It's just my luck that I paid off Draco to keep quiet, and the dragon got found out independently anyway. 

Well, I'm not about to start lying to Dumbledore. I look him in the eye and say, "Yes, sir." 

"Are you aware that dragons are illegal to keep in Britain?" Dumbledore asks. 

"So I have been told, but I have not seen the actual wording of any relevant laws," I reply. 

Dumbledore sighs, and gives me a disappointed look that practically turns my bones to jelly. "You are fortunate that young Mr. Malfoy came to me with this information, rather than having his father report it directly to the Ministry." 

My heart manages to sink even further. I gape at him. Draco betrayed me? 

Dumbledores goes on, "The dragon will be quietly relocated to a preserve in Romania where it will be taken care of by trained handlers. You, however, will need to be punished for this indiscretion. I believe another year of detention with Professor Snape is in order." 

I swallow hard. "Yes, sir," I say quietly. I don't look him in the eye and keep my Occlumency shields firmly up as best as I can, for whatever hope I have of keeping the likes of Dumbledore out. I don't want him to find out that I gave James Potter's invisibility cloak to Draco Malfoy. It's shameful enough as it is. 

Losing Norbert is more of a blow to me than the detentions. I'd expected them to find another excuse to give me another year of Occlumency lessons. I've been getting better at it, but I still have a good ways to go before I master the talent. 

And Draco. Damn it, Draco. Why did he have to betray me? I gave him everything he wanted. I never could consider him a friend, not after Halloween, but I thought I could trust him. I thought he would keep his word. Does honor mean nothing to the purebloods of this world? 

That all aside, I try to stay optimistic and look on the bright side. I'm still looking forward to Lockhart's Defense class this year. Certainly he will be better than Quirrell was. You'd think someone possessed by a Dark Lord might be able to demonstrate battle magic effectively. But if these books are any indication, Lockhart sounds like a complete _badass_. This year's Defense class is going to be _awesome_! 

* * *

When our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Gilderoy Lockhart comes along, I'm practically bouncing in my seat with excitement. He's handsome, skilled, and powerful, what's not to like? 

"Welcome, welcome, everyone," Lockhart says. "I see you've all bought my books. Excellent. I'm going to start out our lesson with a little quiz, to see how well you've read them." He hands out papers. "You have half an hour. You may begin." 

I pull out my quill and look down at the test, expecting to see questions about werewolves and vampires. Instead, it appears to be a bunch of inane questions about Lockhart's favorite color, birthday, ambitions, and so forth. Every single question is about Lockhart. I frown a little. Surely there must be some reason for this? Ah, perhaps he's just testing reading comprehension and attention to detail. 

Unfortunately, although I've looked through his books thoroughly, I can't remember these sorts of details. I'm totally going to fail this test. Glancing surreptitiously around the room, it seems I'm not the only one who looks stumped. 

Well, no help for it, then. I don't care to go guessing and rely on chance to get something right and make a fool of myself in the process. I turn my test over and put my quill away, and sit back to wait quietly for the half hour to end. 

"Not doing the quiz, Mr. Potter?" Lockhart says, coming up to me. 

"I don't know any of the answers," I reply. "My apologies, sir." 

"Very well," Lockhart says, taking the paper away. 

"Neither do I," Ron admits, following my lead. 

There are murmurs of agreement from around the room, and after a minute, the majority of the class have given up on the quiz already, with only a handful of stubborn holdouts doing their best to answer. Although as some of them look positively gleeful, I'm guessing those are probably big Lockhart fans that have already memorized the books. 

When the test is over, Lockhart collects the quizzes of those who actually bothered answering the questions. "A very disappointing turnout, all in all," Lockhart says. "Did most of you even read my books?" 

"I read them," I protest. 

"No matter," Lockhart says, waving his hand dismissively. "Let us move on to today's lesson. We will be learning about a very deceptively dangerous creature today. Do not let their appearance fool you, for they are quite vicious." 

He pulls the cover off of a cage at the front of the room, revealing a number of rather irate little blue pixies inside, clamoring to be let loose. Wait, today's lesson is _pixies_? Well, maybe they _are_ really as dangerous as he claims they are. I suppose he wouldn't be introducing a dragon to a group of twelve year olds. 

"Cornish pixies, freshly caught," Lockhart says. "Remain calm, and do not scream. These are foul, devilish creatures." 

Seamus can't help but laugh at this. "They don't seem very dangerous, do they?" 

"Don't they?" Lockhart says, wagging his finger at Seamus. "Do not underestimate them." He goes over to open the cage. "Let's see how you can deal with them, shall we?" 

Lockhart lets the pixies loose into the room, and they shoot out in all directions and proceed to wreck havoc upon the room. They knock over ink bottles, shred loose paper, shatter the window, and attack the students. Okay, maybe Lockhart has a point. I try to bring to mind a spell that might help against them. 

" _Flipendo!_ " I cry, pointing my wand at the nearest pixie. The blue bolt of my Knockback Jinx flies past the creature and strikes the ceiling, only succeeding in mildly annoying my intended target. 

"Having trouble? They're only pixies." Lockhart raises his wand and proclaims, " _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_ " 

Whatever the spell was supposed to do, it doesn't actually do anything. Several of the pixies proceed to assault Lockhart, grabbing his wand and snatching at his clothes, prompting him to take cover under his desk. 

I sigh as I behold this sight. The brave, handsome hero, cowering underneath a desk at the sight of _pixies_. I can understand the students not knowing how to deal with them, but why would he bring in a creature that he couldn't control himself? My estimation of him plunges through the floor in disappointment. I suppose this leaves it up to me to do something about this. 

I try throwing every spell I know that might possibly help at the rampaging pixies one by one. After some trial and error, I find that the Freezing Charm, _Immobulus_ , is pretty effective at stopping them cold. 

Neville is being harassed by a pair of pixies, who have lifted him into the air by his ears. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I say, aiming my Hover Charm at Neville. He's a bit of a large target, though, and all I manage to do is lighten him somewhat. I frown a little. No help for it. I carefully take aim and pick off the two pixies with Freezing Charms. Neville descends to the floor slowly. 

"Thanks, Harry," Neville says. 

"Can you give me a hand rounding these things up, Neville?" I say. "Just grab the frozen ones and shove them back into the cage." 

"Alright," Neville says. 

Ron follows my lead and starts freezing pixies left and right, and Neville scoops them up and puts them away. After the three of us have cleared away the pesky attackers, Lockhart tentatively looks out from underneath his desk to see if it's safe. 

"Well done, boys!" Lockhart says. "Five points to Gryffindor for a splendid show of skill and bravery!" 

I snort softly and make sure that the pixie cage is tightly secured so that they aren't getting out again. In fact, I murmur, " _Colloportus_ " for good measure. If someone can't dispel a Locking Charm cast by a second year student, they certainly shouldn't be letting these pixies loose. That was just plain irresponsible. I'd be more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if he'd actually managed to do _something_. 

"Professor Lockhart, who collected these pixies for today's lesson?" I ask. 

"Why, I caught them myself, of course," Lockhart says. 

I give him a flat look. "No, really. Your bold spell did nothing, and you were _hiding under your desk_. I don't think anyone in this room is going to believe that you did that. Was it Hagrid? Professor McGonagall?" 

The bell rings, signalling the end of class and saving Lockhart from further questioning. "Oh, looks like we're out of time for today. Run along now, children. I'm looking forward to our next exciting class together!" 

I glare at him for a few moments longer as the students begin filing out of the class before leaving silently with Ron and Neville. 

"What a fraud," Ron says. "Can you believe him?" 

"After seeing that, I'm starting to doubt that he even did half of the things he claims to have done," I comment. "If he couldn't handle a group of pixies, how am I supposed to believe that he could deal with yeti, hags, and so forth?" 

"I'm just glad you were there, Harry," Neville says. "At least _someone_ was able to figure out how to get those little devils off of me." 

"Don't look at me," I say. "I just cast random spells until something worked. Ugh, what a disaster. I put a Locking Charm on the cage, by the way. I do hope, if he tries that stunt with the next class, that he can't manage to get it open again." 

Ron snickers softly. "Good job, Harry." 

In the Great Hall, I'm intercepted by a small boy, a first year, who is clutching a strange boxy device of some sort. "Alright, Harry?" he says. "I'm Colin Creevy. Could I get your picture?" 

"Huh?" I say. 

"If it's alright with you," Colin says. "Nobody will ever believe I met you otherwise!" 

"I'm sure they would," I say. "I do go to this school, after all." 

"Come on," Colin says. "Just one picture. Please? Everyone's told me all about you and how great you are." 

"I'm sorry, I don't have any pictures on me," I tell him. 

"No, no," Colin says. "I want to take your picture." 

"Well, it's hard to take it if I don't have it, isn't it?" I say. 

"I mean with this," Colin says, indicating the device in his hands. "It's a camera. Haven't you seen a camera before? They told me if I develop photos in a certain potion, it'll even make them move!" 

"Oh," I say dumbly. "I see. Well, I suppose it's alright..." 

"Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you?" Colin suggests, offering the camera to Ron. "And then you could sign it afterward! That would be really great." 

"Well, okay, sure..." I say tentatively, shrugging. 

"Did I hear that right?" Draco Malfoy says, approaching us, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Harry Potter is giving out signed photographs?" 

I give him a scathing glare. _Betrayer._ No, I must stay calm. I resist the urge to hex him on sight. "Sure, why not," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. "You want one, Malfoy?" 

"Hah," Draco says. "Everyone better line up for this!" He turns and raises his voice, announcing to anyone within earshot, "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos! Come get them while they're hot!" 

"You're just jealous," Colin says to Draco, sounding more brave than he looks. 

"Jealous?" Draco repeats. "Why would I be jealous? I don't think getting my head split open is much of an accomplishment!" 

"Neither do I," I say. "Today I'm heralding my valiant defeat of a swarm of Cornish pixies. It's a pity that I didn't think to bring back a trophy. But I'll certainly be telling all about it in my upcoming book, _Posturing with Pixies_." 

Ron practically chokes with laughter at that. Colin just looks confused, as if wondering if he should be impressed. 

Draco smirks. "Oh, look, Weasley's a fan, too," he says. "I'm sure he'd also like a signed photo. I bet he could sell it for more than his house is worth." 

"Oh, bugger off, Malfoy," Ron retorts. 

"And why stop at photos?" Draco goes on. "You could sell signed wall-scrolls of yourself, too! I'm sure all your fans would just die for one. What's your little replacement Mudblood friend think of that, huh?" 

I narrow my eyes at Draco. "What did you call him?" I say coldly. 

"Well, you lost your last pet Mudblood, so you picked up another one, right?" Draco says. "You'd better keep a close eye on him and take good care of him, though, or he might just die on you." 

_Crack._ I snap my wand up at him, and a bolt of lightning surges out of its tip straight at my enemy, without even a word spoken from me. The whole world seems blood red for a moment through the haze of rage. My mind barely registers Crabbe and Goyle starting throwing jinxes at me. 

Professor McGonagall steps in and breaks up the fight. "Detention, Mr. Potter," she says. 

I try to calm myself, and say through gritted teeth, "Did you hear what he said to me, Professor?" 

"No, I did not," McGonagall says. "But whatever it was does not excuse attacking him, regardless." 

"He," I say, taking a deep breath, "called Colin here my 'replacement pet Mudblood'. And advised me to be careful not to let this one die." 

McGonagall's face darkens. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Creevey, Mr. Longbottom, did Mr. Malfoy say such a thing?" 

The three other boys nod their heads in agreement. "Right rotten thing to say," Ron says. 

"Detention for you as well, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall says. "And twenty points from Slytherin for your vile comments." 

"Why didn't Potter lose points?" Goyle demands. 

"I believe detention is sufficient," McGonagall says. "As he was obviously provoked and it appears to have been accidental magic. I do not believe that he actually knows such a spell yet. And one more point from Slytherin for questioning my decisions, Mr. Goyle." 

"Yes, ma'am," Goyle grumbles. 

* * *

"Why did you do this, Stormseeker?" Snape asks me at my first Occlumency detention of the year. "Hiding a dragon out in the Forbidden Forest?" 

"I really wanted a dragon," I say softly. 

"I got that," Snape says dryly. "But why didn't you inform Dumbledore and I what you intended?" 

"You would have let me keep him?" I say with a touch of surprise. 

"Perhaps," Snape says. "Arrangements could have been made. Your peculiar connection to dragons could have made it a valuable asset. And yet you tried to hide it from us. Why?" 

"I'm sorry," I say sheepishly, looking at the floor. "I wasn't really thinking." 

"Look at me, Stormseeker," Snape orders. 

I look him in the eye reluctantly. This _is_ supposed to be Occlumency training, after all. But in my current state of emotional distress, it's difficult to keep my shields up. Anger I can handle, but guilt and despair? I fear I'm an open book to Professor Snape. 

"You're right, your shields are terrible right now," Snape comments. "Why did you agree to that deal with Draco?" 

"I thought I could trust him," I say. 

"And yet you didn't think you could trust me and Dumbledore," Snape replies. "I could retrieve that cloak for you, but I will not. Let that be your lesson in taking care in who you trust and how far you can trust them." 

"I didn't expect you to, sir," I say quietly. "It was my own mistake, and it won't happen again." 

"I should hope not," Snape says. "I fear for the fate of the world if you are incapable of learning from your mistakes." 

"Don't worry," I say. "I'll learn from my mistakes. If I get the opportunity, I'll even learn from other people's mistakes, too. Professor Lockhart is proving quite adept in demonstrating what _not_ to do, for example." 

Snape's thin lips curl into a smirk. "I would imagine so. I heard from my first year Slytherins that he was intending on unleashing a cage full of angry Cornish pixies upon them, but that he couldn't get the cage open to do so." 

I can't help but grin broadly at that. "Is that so?" I say. As disappointed as I am about recent turns of events, I'll take my pleasure where I can get it. And I'll certainly take pleasure in outwitting an incompetent teacher. 

"Indeed," Snape says. "A skilled use of a Locking Charm, I would imagine. But, of course, no mere student should be able to cast a spell like that which a teacher could not cancel. And Lockhart couldn't cancel it. I had to do it myself before disposing of the creatures. I'll put them to far better use as potions ingredients." 

"They had it coming," I comment. "I imagine that Lockhart would be more useful as potions ingredients, too." 

"Perhaps so," Snape says, smirking broadly. "But technically, any potions which require human ingredients are considered to be Dark in nature, and hence cannot be taught in class." 

"Of course, Professor," I say lightly. 

* * *

My regular detention, on the other hand, is even less pleasant. As it turns out, Professor Lockhart specifically requested to take my detention. And for what? In order to help answer his fan mail. I have to sigh as I trudge along to Lockhart's office. 

"Ah, there you are, Harry!" Lockhart says, greeting me brightly. "Come on in. You can get started on addressing the envelopes." 

"Yes, sir," I say glumly, taking a seat and pulling out my quill. 

"Now, you'd best not expect that you'll get such a treat too often," Lockhart says. "Have to keep you on the up and up, after all!" 

"Of course, sir," I mutter. 

"Now, I hear you were handing out signed photographs at lunch last week?" Lockhart says. "Now, fame is a wonderful thing, but at your age, you must not let it get to your head. People won't look kindly on you for that. You must always be careful to properly cultivate your image." 

"It wasn't really my idea," I protest. "A first year student wanted a picture of me. That's all." 

"Fame is a fickle friend, my dear Harry," Lockhart says. 

He proceeds to ramble on, giving me bits of advice, and I just decide to tune him out and murmur agreement in all the right places. I'm a Time Mage. I should get used to tedium at times. Just sometimes, I only ever hope to experience a particular brand of tedium _once_.


	15. Elven Autumn

The first weekend of October, I wake to see another house-elf sitting on the end of my bed. Not Dobby, a different one. The sun's streaming in through the tower windows, and the other boys' beds are empty, so I must have slept in this morning. 

I blink slowly, and stare at this creature standing on the edge of the bed. And quickly realize that he's very strange for a house-elf. He has a knife at his waist, hanging from a bit of rope that forms a makeshift belt. He's wearing a dusty brown "robe" that appears to have been made from a pillowcase. And his golden eyes are looking down at me with nothing of the innocence or subservience I've come to expect from house-elves. 

"Who... are you?" I ask. 

"My name is Rispy," he replies, striding forward to stand right on _top_ of my chest. "You _will_ aid me." 

Okay, this is _definitely_ a very strange house-elf. He speaks very well, and he dares to make demands of a wizard? What in the Abyss is going on here? 

"What do you want?" I wonder. 

Rispy pulls out his knife and points it at my face. " _You_ are responsible for putting me in this situation. Therefore, _you_ will make amends for it, or else!" 

"Me?" I reply. "What the fuck did _I_ do?" 

"Do not try to deny it!" Rispy exclaims. "I know this was your doing! They said it themselves!" 

"I don't even know what you're talking about," I say exasperatedly. "And would you put that thing away already before you poke my eye out? Get off of me!" 

"I knew it," Rispy snarls. "You're just as much a slaver as the rest of them. Die!" 

He sheathes his knife for a moment, then pulls it out again and thrusts the blade right into my eye. I only have a moment to scream before everything goes black. 

* * *

I groan and rub my eyes. Well, that was unpleasant. Note to self: Do not annoy the crazy knife-wielding house-elf. I sigh softly and sit up, looking to Rispy standing on the end of my bed. 

"Do you need something?" I ask. 

"I am Rispy," the house-elf replies coldly. "But that's probably not important to you. You wizards never care about us house-elves. You'll probably forget my name again right away, anyway." 

"I will not," I assure him. "My name is Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

Rispy snorts in disgust. "It's never a pleasure for me to meet another wizard. There are too many of them in my life as it is." 

"I'm sorry about that," I say. "Is there something I can do for you, then?" 

"Much as I am loath to request aid from one of _your_ kind, I find myself in dire need of assistance," Rispy says. "And since you are the one responsible for my predicament, it is only fitting that this task fall to you." 

"I'm afraid I don't know what I might have done," I say. "We've never met before. Or do you know Dobby?" 

Rispy gives a sharp nod. "Because of that, the Malfoys desired another slave. I am a free-born elf, but for the past year, I have been passed around from wizard to wizard like a piece of chattel! Dobby spoke highly of you, however, and so I thought that if any wizard were willing to help me, you might be. Otherwise, I _will_ kill you, and bring down any other wizard I can before I am slain!" 

"Whoa, calm down," I say, raising my hands. "Look, I'm not your enemy here. I'll help you however I can. I promise. Now, why don't you start from the beginning? How did you get into this situation?" 

Rispy sighs softly and flops down to sit in front of me. "I don't trust you, but I will take you at your word, for now. But I will hold you to that promise." He shakes his head faintly. "I was born in a village of free elves in Ireland. But I had a bit of wanderlust in me. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to have grand adventures. I wanted to be a _hero_. It seems so very long ago now, and my youthful idealism looks so foolish from my viewpoint now." 

I nod faintly, and ask, "So what happened?" 

"They caught me," Rispy says. "The damned wizards. They bound me with their spells, forced me to obey them. At first, they passed me around for breeding. Some fresh elf blood to revitalize their inbred slave kennels. That's how I first met Dobby." He pauses for a moment. I don't know what to say. Thankfully, he goes on. "It was a wizard named Parkinson who bound me. He charged gold to lend me out to other wizards. I'm sure I brought a pretty price when they finally sold me off." 

"To the Malfoys," I say quietly. 

Rispy nods. "Now, for the past month and a half, I've been trapped in this horrible house with the most awful wizards possible out of an already awful lot! They don't even have the dignity to punish me _themselves_ when I do something wrong. They force me to hurt myself. And I'm always doing something wrong. They want to break me..." 

"I'm sorry," I say. "I was trying to help Dobby. I never intended for anyone else to get caught in that sort of situation. I'll find some way to help you. It would probably take every galleon in my vault to convince them to part with you, though..." 

"You can't help the slaves by supporting the slave trade," Rispy retorts. "Not one more coin for the slavers!" 

"Fine," I say. "Perhaps I can trick them into freeing you. Accidentally giving you clothes, perhaps." 

"I want them _dead_ , Harry," Rispy says, looking at me with fierce eyes. "Nothing less than that will satisfy me." 

"And you can't kill them yourself," I say thoughtfully. 

Rispy shakes his head. "Not knowingly and intentionally. That's why I ask you for help. To find a way to get around that." 

I take a deep breath. He doesn't ask for much, does he? "I'll see what I can do." 

" _Now_ , Harry," Rispy urges. "I don't think I can stand another month in that place. I'm desparate here." He sighs. "It took me this long just to find an opportunity to slip away, and they'll realize I'm gone any minute now and call me back. Narcissa made the mistake of snapping at me to go away and leave her alone... otherwise I wouldn't have even been able to leave the house." 

I nod. "Of course. Right away." 

I go to get dressed and head out of the tower, thinking about what might work. I'm missing breakfast, but I don't care. I wish I still had my invisibility cloak. That could come in handy right about now. I wish I at least had that map of the twins' right now, too. But no help for it. I slip down into the dungeons, careful to avoid any unwanted attention. 

Snape's private potion stores. The door is locked, of course. " _Alohomora_." Not well enough. I let myself inside, shut the door behind me. I glance through the shelves to see if there's anything that might do the trick. 

"Well?" Rispy says, popping into existence beside me. "What's taking you so long? I don't have all day! They could call me back any minute!" 

"Alright, alright, give me a moment!" I say. I reach out and grab a vial off the shelf that looks like it must be poison. "Here, put this on their food. It's, um, a great salad dressing that I'm sure they'll love." 

Rispy takes the vial and looks at it. "It has a skull on the side." 

"It's _evil_ salad dressing," I say. 

Rispy snickers softly. "Right then, I suppose I can go with that..." He then vanishes again without even thanking me. 

Well, that's that, I suppose. Maybe if I hurry to the Great Hall, perhaps I can still catch breakfast. I put the strange encounter out of mind. I don't really want to think about it too much. 

"There you are, Harry," Ron says as I take a seat next to him. "You must have really slept in!" He has already finished eating, and appears to be waiting on Neville to finish off a pile of pancakes. 

"Guess I was tired," I say, shrugging a little. 

I eat my breakfast blindly and wander on back to our common room to study. I'm not really interested in their various games of chess, Exploding Snap, and definitely not in any suggestion that involves going outdoors or doing absolutely anything on broomsticks. 

Dinner comes along eventually. I find myself watching Draco Malfoy. An owl flies in and drops a letter at his table. He reads it, and his face pales. He crumbles it up and excuses himself. 

"Harry?" Ron says, nudging me. "Something the matter, Harry?" 

"You're staring at the Slytherin table," Neville observes. 

"Malfoy got a letter," I say quietly. "It seems to have disturbed him." 

"Wonder what that's all about," Neville says. 

"I bet it was just his dad refusing to buy a set of Nimbus 2001's for the entire Slytherin house team if he didn't get picked for it," Ron says dryly. 

I can't even force myself to laugh. I haven't been feeling particularly well all day, and can hardly stomach the food at the moment. Draco's up at the staff table speaking with Professor Snape. I can't see his face very well from here, but Snape looks very grave. I may not like Draco very well, but it's not like his parents ever did anything to _me_... 

"Excuse me," I murmur. 

"Where you going?" Ron asks. 

"Loo," I mutter, stumbling away from the table. 

Not even really paying attention to where I'm going, I make my way to one of the castle's restrooms. As I splash water on my face, I realize I'm trembling. Did I just kill someone? Two people? I don't know, but the thought makes me feel physically ill. Am I going to start puking like I did after Hermione died? Worse, in this case, if something happened to them, it wasn't because of my negligence, but... but... my own direct actions. 

I go into one of the stalls and proceed to empty my stomach. I feel utterly pathetic. The very thought of having possibly murdered someone makes me feel sick. Never again, I tell myself. This isn't right. 

"What are you doing in here?" shrieks a voice from behind me. "You're a boy!" 

Crap, did I accidentally go into the _girl's_ restroom by mistake? "Um... sorry," I murmur. 

I turn and look to see, not a girl, but the ghost of a girl. She looks like she must have been a student at Hogwarts when she died, judging by her age. "Well, it's good for you to apologize. Everyone's always mean to me. Moaning Myrtle, they call me. They taunt me and make fun of me. Nobody ever just comes to visit and be nice." 

"I'm sorry about that, too," I say. "I won't make fun of you, I promise." 

I go over to the sink and rinse the vomit out of my mouth. I don't care to return to the Great Hall just at the moment, but Ron and Neville are surely going to wonder if I don't return soon. Well, that's alright. They aren't going to find me in here, and I'll just apologize to them later. 

"Are you going to start puking again?" Myrtle asks. 

"Nothing left to puke up," I reply. 

"Well, I suppose that's one good thing about being dead," Myrtle says. "I can't get sick anymore!" 

I absently wonder if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are going to turn into ghosts now, to haunt me for the rest of my days in this world. I shake my head and bid Myrtle farewell, and head out of the restroom again with a sigh. I'm going to need to face the world, and discover the truth of what my actions have wrought. 

I have "detention" tonight with Professor Snape, so I head that way a little early. Is he going to find out about what me and Rispy have done? What will he do to me for it? 

Professor Snape puts up a spell to ensure our privacy after I enter, and says, "You're here early, Stormseeker." 

"If you're busy, I'll wait," I reply. 

"No," Snape says. "I wished to speak with you, regardless. I understand you're not on good terms with young Mr. Malfoy of late. Have you heard yet what has upset him today?" 

"I have not heard," I say, looking at the floor. 

Snape shakes his head. "You need to work on your Occlumency more. Always your emotions are plain as day to anyone that's paying attention. Stormseeker, look at me, and tell me now what you know about this." 

I shrink a little into my chair, and refuse to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, sir," I whisper. 

Snape reaches across the desk and grabs my chin, forcing me to face him. " _Answer_ me, Stormseeker. Answer me truthfully, or I will wrench it from your mind, if your skill has still not improved to the point of being able to keep me out." 

"I--" I stammer, looking at him in terror. "I poisoned them, Professor. I gave one of their house-elves poison to put on their food -- I stole it from your potion stores." 

Professor Snape releases me, and I slump back into my chair. He shakes his head, and mutters, "Do you never _think_ about the consequences of your actions before doing them?" 

"Professor, they were forcing a house-elf to torture himself," I say. "This elf was desparate enough to come to me and beg me for help. And he _would_ have killed me myself if I had refused." 

"That's preposterous," Snape says. "House-elves can't--" 

" _He already killed me once_ ," I snap back. 

Snape goes quiet for a moment, and says, "I see. So, why did you not come to me, or Dumbledore, to ask for assistance?" 

"He was very impatient in hounding me," I reply. "And I do not believe he was wrong." I sigh softly and fix my eyes firmly in the floor again, and say quietly, "Are they dead? Did I murder them?" 

"They are both in St. Mungo's at the moment," Snape says. "Their condition is grave. Normally, one would expect that their house-elves would have brought help for them immediately, but they were unconscious for several hours before Mr. Crabbe came and discovered them." 

"I... I see," I whisper. "Do you... do you suppose the house-elves didn't care enough to go out of their way for them, even if they couldn't directly harm them?" 

"It's a possibility," Snape says. "It is fortunate that your little accomplice didn't leave any evidence that could be traced back to _me_ , either, or I would be _most_ cross with you at the moment. Tell me, Stormseeker, was this all done out of revenge for Draco's betrayal?" 

"No, not really," I reply. "I just wanted to help that house-elf." I look up at him. "You mean you aren't angry with me?" 

"Oh, I _am_ quite angry with you," Snape says, looking at me coolly. "But you don't give detention for _attempted murder_ , which may yet turn into _actual_ murder. And you obviously cannot be allowed to go to Azkaban for this. But there's no evidence linking you to the incident, fortunately." 

"Are they... are they your friends?" I ask quietly. 

Snape glares at me. "I've always been on good terms with them. But I would not precisely say they're friends. Are you friends with Percy Weasley?" 

"I see," I say. "I'm sorry..." 

"Don't be," Snape says. "Are you going to make yourself sick with guilt at the idea of killing anyone, no matter how justified you believe you are in doing so?" 

"You-- What are you saying?" I wonder, staring at him. I'd honestly expected him to be more upset about this. 

"Control your emotions," Snape says. "Center yourself. Balance yourself. It is vitally important at this time that no one be able to connect you to this incident." 

"I-- yes, sir," I say, taking a deep breath. Occlumency lessons it is, then. 

"Whatever you are feeling," Snape goes on. "Whatever grief or guilt or satisfaction or pleasure you may feel from an action, you must not allow it to show on the surface. You must only ever allow others to see what you wish them to see." 

"Professor," I say quietly. "Do you think I should kill myself?" 

Snape sighs. "Get that foolish notion out of your head. Using your power to reset the day when you have made a serious and costly mistake is one thing. But do you honestly think that this has been a mistake? Answer me truthfully, now. Is that what you honestly believe?" 

I think about his words for several moments. "No, sir. I do not believe it is a mistake." Having decided that for myself, I find myself relaxing a little. 

"Then move on, and live with the consequences of your actions, whatever may come of them, good or ill," Snape says. "Although I would appreciate it if you would _ask_ me in the future rather than breaking into my private potion stores." 

"Would you have _given_ me poison for something like this?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Perhaps I would, if I believed your intent was justified and it was the best way to handle the situation," Snape says. "But if you cannot convince me of the rightness of your action, then learn to make your own bloody poisons." 

"Yes, sir," I reply. 

Snape looks at me for several moments, and I can feel him quietly poking at my Occlumency barriers. "Also," he says. "Do you realize that, even should Lucius and Narcissa die, this will not free the house-elf you are so concerned about?" 

I nod slightly. "He'd just pass to Draco, right?" 

"Well, at least you aren't completely dull-witted," Snape says dryly. "What do you intend to do about that?" 

"I'm not planning on killing Draco, if that's what you're afraid of," I say. 

"He would be no less of a cruel master than his father," Snape says. 

"I know," I say. "Perhaps I could trick him into freeing Rispy, somehow." 

"Why did you not simply do so rather than poisoning his parents?" Snape asks. 

"Rispy refused to settle for anything less than their deaths," I explain. "And while he was very angry and driven by vengeance, I could not fault him for that, regardless." 

"I see," Snape says. 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could suggest to him that it would be in his best interests to free Rispy." 

"You wish me to get involved in this matter, now?" Snape asks. 

"He's more likely to listen to you than to me," I say. 

"You show some sense, at least," Snape says dryly. "Very well. Assuming I should do this, what would you suggest that I tell him?" 

"Rispy is a free-born elf," I say. "He's effectively wild, and could never be properly 'tamed', so to speak. While he might make for good breeding stock to get in fresh blood, he can never be fully trustworthy." 

Snape nods thoughtfully. "That is a sufficiently sensible argument," he says. "But what's to stop Draco from wanting the house-elf dead?" 

I think on that for a moment. "I don't know. If his parents die, and there's even the slightest suggestion that Rispy might be connected to it, I wouldn't put it past him to want Rispy killed." 

"A very likely possibility," Snape says. 

"So perhaps it would be best if Draco believes that it would be _worse_ on Rispy for him to remain alive," I say. 

Snape nods. "Stormseeker, your Occlumency is improving. You were able to calm yourself and speak rationally about these matters, after you got over your initial distress. Now you just need to get to the point where you can avoid losing your head in the first place." 

"I'll try, sir," I assure him. 

"See that you do," Snape says. "The most important thing is self-control. You do not want your emotions to give away your intentions, and you do not want your impulses making your choices for you." 

I see now quite plainly why Dumbledore wanted him to teach me. His fine control is most admirable. He told me flat out that he was angry with me, and yet I never would have gotten a hint of it myself merely from observing him. 

On my way back to my dormitory from the dungeons, I pass by Draco Malfoy going to his own common room. His eyes... he looks like he's been crying. He glares at me in passing but doesn't say a word. I suppose even bad boys love their mothers. 

* * *

The next morning, I wake to find Rispy standing on my bed again. "They aren't dead yet, Harry." 

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do about it?" I wonder. 

"Finish them," Rispy demands. " _Finish the job_. They might recover! I can't have that! And you've got to kill Draco, too--" 

"No," I say. 

"No?" Rispy says, glaring at me. "He's just as evil as they are! He'll--" 

"He'll do absolutely nothing to you," I say. I can only hope that Snape can convince Draco to release him. 

"And if he finds out I had anything to do with--" 

"Rispy," I interrupt sharply. "Relax. I've already made arrangements." 

"I don't trust you!" Rispy says. "I won't trust a thing you say until the deed is done and I'm free again! Until then, you're nothing more than just another slaving wizard in my eyes, just as corrupt as the rest of them. You may claim otherwise all you like, but I still don't trust you!" 

"Are all elves alike, Rispy?" I ask. 

"Of course not," Rispy says. "Only a bigoted wizard would think--" 

"Then don't assume all _wizards_ are alike," I retort. "I am nothing like Draco Malfoy. Don't compare me to him." 

"Curse you all," Rispy mutters. "He's calling me. I have to go... if this goes badly, I swear, I _will_ come back and kill you." 

Rispy vanishes without another word. I'm left staring at the spot where he was for several seconds before just rubbing my eyes and going to visit the bathroom and get dressed. I hate relying on someone else for something like this, but I know Snape would be much better able to do the job than me. I can't let my own pride get in the way of successfully achieving whatever I'm setting out to accomplish. 

I emerge from the bathroom to find Rispy back in the dorm room, holding a woolen sock in his hand and staring at it as if in disbelief. 

"He set me free," Rispy says flatly, distantly. "I can't believe he set me free..." 

"Congratulations," I say, smiling at him. 

Rispy grabs onto my leg and buries his face in my robes, and starts crying unashamedly.


	16. Deathday

I dread the approach of Halloween. What horrible thing will happen this year, I wonder? While much of the castle is gearing up to celebrate and enjoy the treats at the Halloween feast, I haven't forgotten what happened last year, when one bright soul was taken from us before her time. 

"Hey, Harry," Ron says. "Nearly Headless Nick invited Luna Lovegood to his deathday party. Luna asked Ginny to come, but Ginny didn't really want to go, so she asked me, and I don't really want to go, so I'm asking you." 

I smirk and roll my eyes a little. "Fine, I'll accompany Luna to this deathday party. But I think I'll just tell her that myself, rather than telling you to tell Ginny to tell her." 

That sounds like a more appropriate sort of celebration for a murderer like me. I'm slowly coming to terms with that. Both Draco and I are hiding our emotions well of late. But I don't need to insult people as a defense mechanism. 

I catch Luna at lunch. "Hey, Luna," I say. "I'll go with you to that deathday party, if you don't mind." 

"Oh, will you, Stormseeker?" Luna says, looking at me as though she's staring right through me, as usual. "I'm glad. No one else wants to come. A terrible infestation of wrackspurts. It's not nice to neglect the dead." 

"So, erm... what exactly _is_ a deathday party, anyway?" I wonder. 

"It marks the day someone died," Luna says. "Nicholas died on All Hallows' Eve five hundred years ago." 

"Well, that seems appropriate then, I suppose," I say. 

I don't know about a party, but Hermione as well as James and Lily Potter died on Halloween. After that, all the candy and pumpkins just feels wrong somehow. 

So, when Halloween comes, I hook up with Luna and slip away from the Great Hall. "How can they be so happy when there's so much death around them?" I murmur to Luna on the way to the dungeons. 

Luna looks at me strangely. No, wait, she always looks at me strangely. "There is always death, Stormseeker, and more of it than any one person can see. But death is a part of life, and we cannot dwell on what has been lost to us. We must eventually move on, apart from those who have moved on from us. And we may yet see them again in the end." 

I think on what she's saying for a few moments. "You're right, of course," I say. And besides, I'm a time traveler, why do I let these things get to me so much? Well, of course, a part of it is that I don't know how to go back more than one day yet... and I think, in part, I'm grieving in proxy for my family left behind at home, left to their fate. 

We arrive at the dungeon room that has been arranged in grave decorations from Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party. I've never seen so many ghosts in one place before, and it's enough to make me shiver involuntarily. Rotting, moldy food has been arranged on tables, giving the place a heavy smell. 

"Ah, Miss Lovegood!" Nick says, drifting over toward us. "And young Mr. Potter! I'm glad you could make it. Welcome!" 

"Hello," I say, feeling a little awkward. 

"I'm surprised that any of the students came at all," Nick says. "I would have expected that you'd much rather be at the school feast, instead, with the living." 

"Ugh," I say. "I'm sorry, but the thought of eating anything right now makes me feel ill, and it's not just because I'm standing next to a rotting fish." 

"Oh?" Nick says. 

"This is also the first anniversary of Hermione Granger's death," I explain quietly. "And I miss her, and kind of wish she were here today, as selfish as that thought might be. My parents died on this day, too, but I never really knew them. Why do some people turn into ghosts when they die, but not others?" 

"Ah, I see," Nick says. "As to your question, well... Not everyone can become a ghost. Few wizards choose that route." 

"So you all became ghosts by choice?" I wonder. 

"Indeed," Nick says. "It's a feeble imitation of life, a shadow of what we once were, but it was, indeed, our choice. We feared death too much to move on, and so we remain in this world, treading the paths where we once trod in life." 

"I see," I say. "Well, I can understand that. I don't exactly have any desire to see death, myself." Not that I'm likely to become a ghost, myself. I have my own method of avoiding death. "So, does that mean Hermione wasn't afraid of death?" 

"Not precisely," Nick says. "Many fear death, but when their time comes, they are yet willing to let go. We ghosts are those who refused to let go, and remained anchored in this world instead." 

I nod to him, and glance around the room and see one ghost that I know is at the castle, but isn't in attendance today. "Moaning Myrtle isn't here?" 

"I'm afraid not," Nick says. "She rarely leaves her toilet. She's probably curled up back in there making the thing flood, as usual. Poor girl really should get out more. It would do her some good." 

"Do you mind if I go try to coax her out?" I ask. 

"Go ahead if you like, Harry," Nick says. "She's more than welcome, if she's willing to come." 

"I'll be back soon, then," I say, turning to head out of the dungeon. 

I make my way to the first floor girls' restroom. My feet splash into water, a puddle spreading across the corridor, but my eyes are drawn to words written on the wall. 

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.**   
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. 

I nearly slip and fall in surprise. What in the Abyss is going on? I approach to take a closer look, frowning deeply. Underneath the message, there's a cat, frozen stiff, eyes unblinking. It's Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. What happened here? 

I charge into the restroom, heart racing. "Myrtle!" I call. "Myrtle, are you here?" 

"Oh, at last, someone notices poor Myrtle," a voice replies from the depths of a toilet bowl. "Someone finally remembers poor Myrtle." She pulls herself out of the drain and floats up in front of me. 

"Myrtle," I say. "Did you-- did you see what happened? Did you see anything?" 

"That's all you're really interested in, isn't it?" Myrtle says, wailing in despair. "You don't care about poor Myrtle! You only care if I might know something you want to know!" 

"That's not true, Myrtle," I insist. "I was coming to try to convince you to come to Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party. He thinks you spend too much time in this toilet and that it would do you some good to come out more. And the party would be fun, wouldn't it?" 

Myrtle looks only slightly mollified at my assurance. "Well, I didn't see anything, anyway. I was sitting in the bend of the drain, thinking about how miserable I was, and how much fun everyone else must be having without me about now." 

I sigh softly. "Nothing at all? Well, alright, then. I'm sure Nick would really appreciate your presence at his deathday party." 

"Oh, alright, I suppose I'll go," Myrtle says. 

"Could you tell Nick and Luna that I won't be back to the party?" I say. "Something's come up and I'm going to need to fetch a teacher..." 

"I'll tell them," Myrtle says. 

While Myrtle heads off to the dungeons, I quickly make my way to the Great Hall. Most of the teachers are seated at the staff table at the head of the room, and I approach Dumbledore. 

"Headmaster," I say frantically. "Something has happened." 

"What is it, my boy?" Dumbledore asks. 

"The-- the Chamber of Secrets," I stammer. "The first floor girls' restroom..." 

Dumbledore's face immediately turns very concerned. "Show me what you've seen," Dumbledore says. "Severus, Minerva, if you will accompany us?" 

"Someone should fetch Mr. Filch as well," I add. "His cat..." 

Dumbledore nods, and says to Professor Sprout, "Pomona, if you would?" 

Professor Sprout nods and heads off toward Filch's office. I lead Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall back to the first floor girls' restroom and show them the message on the wall outside. Nothing has been disturbed, and it doesn't look as though anyone else has been here in the moments it took me to get to the Great Hall and back. 

"Minerva, would you seal off this corridor and detour students around this area?" Dumbledore says, going over to examine the cat. 

"Of course, Headmaster," McGonagall says, heading off to the stretch of corridor between here and the Great Hall in order to make sure students would be redirected away from this section. 

Snape says, "How did you discover this, Potter? Why weren't you at the feast?" 

"I was at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party," I reply. "I noticed that Moaning Myrtle wasn't there, so I came here to try to convince her to come." 

"You prefer to spend time among the living than the dead, Potter?" Snape says. 

"I didn't really feel like being there today," I say quietly. 

"My cat!" exclains Filch, approaching with Professor Sprout. "Oh, my poor little poopsy." He turns to glare at me. "Is this the culprit, then?" 

"No, Argus," Dumbledore replies. "Harry came straight to me to inform me of what has happened here." 

"A likely excuse!" Filch argues. "He could have committed the crime himself and have been trying to make himself look innocent by reporting it." 

"Why would I want to kill your cat?" I say incredulously. 

"Potter knows! He knows!" Filch retorts. "He knows I'm a Squib!" 

I blink at him in puzzlement. "So?" 

"Salazar Slytherin hated all Muggleborns and Squibs!" Filch says. "He would wish death upon the likes of me!" 

"Um... pardon me for asking, but is this supposed to have something to do with me?" I wonder. 

Snape explains, "According to legend, Salazar Slytherin left behind the Chamber of Secrets, hidden somewhere within Hogwarts. But to this day, we are yet uncertain as to its location." 

"And Potter is the Heir of Slytherin, of course!" Filch says. "And he killed my cat!" 

"Your cat isn't dead," Dumbledore says, cradling the stiff feline in his arms. "She's petrified." 

"Mr. Filch," I say patiently, taking a deep breath and remaining quite calm. "If I were really the Heir of Slytherin, and hated you for being a Squib... why would I attack your cat? I would think that Slytherin's heir would have better things to do with whatever secrets that chamber might contain than assaulting passing felines." 

"He as much as admits it and is just making excuses now!" Filch says. 

I sigh softly. Dumbledore says, "Argus, please calm down. I have full confidence in Harry, and I do not believe that there is any conceivable way that he could be responsible for this. And I am quite certain that he does not have a drop of Slytherin's blood in his veins." 

"Fine," Filch says. "We'll do it your way, then. I still think there should be punishment. Obviously the boy must have done _something_ wrong here." 

I shake my head faintly and ignore his ranting, and look toward figuring out the root of the problem. "So... what could have petrified Mr. Filch's cat?" 

"A powerful Dark curse, most likely," Dumbledore suggests. 

"Or perhaps a potion," Snape adds. 

I frown faintly. "If either of those were the case, _why,_ would someone bother to attack a _cat_?" 

"I do not know," Dumbledore says. "Rest assured, however, that we will get to the bottom of this mystery. You should run along now back to your common room, dear Harry. Leave this matter to us. And I think it should go without saying that you must not speak of this to any other students." 

"Of course, Headmaster," I say. I give a slight bow toward the adults, and make my way back to Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

Breakfast the next morning is full of whispers. Although the students know that _something_ happened on Halloween, they have no idea what. The professors have carefully placed spells over the area to prevent anyone from wandering in who doesn't already know about it. If the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was intended to cause a panic, it has failed to do so. 

I go up to Luna at the Ravenclaw table and say, "Hey, Luna. Sorry about ditching you yesterday like that." 

"That's quite alright, Stormseeker," Luna replies distantly. "Your path is a dark one, swathed in death. So much death, it almost hurts to look at you. But so long as you can fend off the wrackspurts, you'll find the light again." 

"Thanks, Luna," I say, nodding sagely at her advice. "But how am I to fend them off if I can't see them myself?" 

"Keep your mind sharp and clear," Luna replies, her eyes focusing on me for one fleeting moment. "And if you ever find yourself lost or confused, stop and think, and ask yourself why. That'll keep the wrackspurts away. Asking why, rather than blindly clinging to false assumptions." 

That... makes an awful lot of sense, actually. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind," I say. 

I quietly decide to spend a bit of free time in the library doing a little research of my own. If this Heir of Slytherin is running around, I want to be prepared. I also figure that, whoever the Heir is, is most likely either a first year or seventh year student in Slytherin house. A seventh year is most probable, in my eyes. They'd have more skill and power behind them, and be more willing to burn their bridges behind them in their final year. A first year, on the other hand, might have just realized their heirdom and discovered the Chamber of Secrets, and not be smart enough to lay low about it to give them a chance to study Slytherin's secrets. 

But for the moment, I want to find out just what could have petrified Mrs. Norris. I also want to read up on what my copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ has to say about the Chamber of Secrets. 

"What are you doing, Harry?" Ron whispers to me. 

"Reading," I reply quietly. I'm a little annoyed, but I force myself to remain calm. I don't want to snap at Ron, even if I don't like him interrupting my concentration, and can't tell him what I'm really up to anyway. 

"Bah, you read too much," Ron says. "You should come back to the common room and play chess with me." 

"Sorry," I say. "I've got a lot of homework to do that I've been putting off." Which is true. And I'm putting it off even longer to do this research. 

"Fine, fine," Ron says, leaving the library before Madam Pince does more than glare at him. 

Unfortunately, my research turns up even less than the hints that Dumbledore and Snape gave. Any sorts of curses or potions that could have caused petrification are clearly considered Dark, and hence little to nothing is mentioned of them, outside of the Restricted Section at any rate. And I have no easy way of sneaking in to try to find them, if I even knew where to begin looking. Perhaps I should set this aside until I can think of a better plan of action, and get started on my _actual_ homework. 

"Hello, Stormseeker." I glance up to see the blonde first-year girl standing at my shoulder. 

"Ah, hey, Luna," I reply. I glance around the library, and pull out my wand and murmur, " _Muffliato_." Okay, technically, Snape never intentionally taught me this spell, but I've seen him cast it every time he's spoken to me for the past year. 

She takes a seat next to me. "Are you making much progress?" she asks. 

"Not really," I reply, without even bothering to ask if she knows what I'm doing. With Luna, it's best to assume that she already knows everything, or if she doesn't, she won't be surprised when she finds out. There's no point in trying to keep anything a secret from her. "I think I'm approaching this from the wrong angle." 

I pull out _Hogwarts, a History_ and flip through it to see if it has any information on the Chamber of Secrets. Start with what I know, and go from there. What does it matter what spell or effect might have petrified Filch's cat? It's not like I'd be able to cast it myself anytime soon, even if there's a book detailing Dark curses like that in the Restricted Section somewhere. 

Ah, here we go. Let's see. Salazar Slytherin left the school because he hated Muggleborns. And, according to legend, left behind this hidden room with a monster in it, presumably guarding the titular secrets. Only his true heir would be able to open it again and purge the school of those who were unworthy of studying magic. 

"I wonder what Slytherin ever had against Muggleborns," Luna says quietly. 

"I don't know," I say. "But this doesn't make sense. It says that the other founders knew nothing about the Chamber of Secrets. And if it was really such a secret, why is there even a legend about it in the first place?" 

"Perhaps Slytherin started the legend himself in order to scare people," Luna suggests. 

"Hmm, this is true," I say. "A warning, perhaps. So, what might be in it, I wonder..." I flip back through the book to information on Salazar Slytherin, and read through it. "Dark wizard, Legilimens, Parselmouth... he could talk to snakes? Well, I suppose that would explain Slytherin's house symbol. In that case, I imagine whatever this monster is, it's probably some sort of large magical snake." 

"There aren't any Parselmouths currently attending Hogwarts," Luna says. 

"The Dark Lord is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin," I continue, frowning a little. "Do you suppose he's possessing somebody else this year?" 

"Not that I've seen," Luna replies. 

I ponder a bit more. "Do you suppose one of his descendants _isn't_ a Parselmouth? But then they wouldn't be able to control his snake..." 

"I don't know," Luna says. "It's possible, perhaps." 

I sigh softly and rub my eyes. "Luna, have _you_ seen anything that might help?" 

"Ginny has a serious infestation of wrackspurts this year," Luna says. "Especially when she's around you. Maybe you should spend more time with her and help her to relax a bit." 

I blink at Luna for a moment. "I meant with regards to the Chamber of Secrets." 

Luna stares off, looking distantly thoughtful. "There's a lot of nargles around Hogwarts, too. But I don't know if that's normal for Hogwarts or not." 

"Never mind," I say, inwardly sighing. Luna can be very helpful at times, but getting a straight answer out of her is exhausting. "I really ought to do my homework, I think."


	17. Day of Death

One morning, midway through November, I'm sitting in the Great Hall eating breakfast. Everything seems pretty normal and quiet. Well, aside from Ron being unable to shut up about Quidditch as usual, but that's about as normal as can be, and as usual, I just ignore him. 

A first-year girl runs into the Great Hall, shrieking. I don't recognize her. Perhaps she's in Hufflepuff? "He's dead!" she shrieks, running up to the staff table. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead!" 

So much for the teachers' discretion. Everyone in the Great Hall must have heard that. Ripples of alarmed murmurs roll through the crowd, quickly turning to panic. Who is dead? And why? What's going on? 

Professor McGonagall stands up and says in an amplified voice, "Prefects, please lead your students back to their common rooms. You will be notified when we have discovered anything. Do not panic." 

"Come on, everyone, this way," Percy says, trying to herd us back upstairs, although from the look on his face, he seems just about as scared as the rest of us. "Stay calm. Don't run or push." 

I come along with the crowd. Along the way, Lavender stumbles on a staircase and almost gets trampled by the other students. I put my arm around her and help her up before she gets stepped on. 

"Thanks," Lavender mutters barely audibly. I don't think she even realized who helped her. 

We make it back to the common room without any serious trouble along the way. By this point, the entire house is on edge. My own heart is racing, too. Is someone really dead? Is anyone else in danger at this point? Is Slytherin's snake roaming the halls right this minute and killing every Muggleborn it comes across? Is Slytherin's heir assassinating them? But I can't speak these fears aloud. They wouldn't help calm anyone down, anyway. 

"Harry, do you know what's going on?" Ron asks. 

"How should I know?" I reply. 

"Well, maybe it's connected to whatever it was that happened on Halloween," Ron suggests. 

"I couldn't tell you about that, either," I say, sighing. 

"But you _do_ know something," Neville adds. 

"Look, there's no sense in getting worked up about it," I say. "Let's just wait and see what the teachers find out. Whatever might be going on out there, we should be safe in here, right?" 

"Alright, fine, I see your point," Ron says. "Let's distract ourselves with some Exploding Snap, then." 

For once, I agree to play the stupid game. I can't concentrate on anything else at the moment, anyway. It's taking all of my skill with Occlumency just to stay calm and avoid letting anything slip. 

Minutes crawl by. We're missing first period classes, but nobody really cares at the moment. Eventually, Professor McGongall enters the common room and approaches me. "Mr. Potter, I must speak with you in my office immediately." 

"Yes, Professor," I say, glancing apologetically at the others and heading off with her. 

We arrive in her office. "Sit down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "Just for the record, where were you this morning?" 

"In the Great Hall, eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table," I reply. "And before that, in my dorm and in the Gryffindor common room." 

"So you weren't at any point alone," McGonagall says. "You were surrounded by your classmates at all times. Good. I don't expect that you had anything to do with it, but one must be certain everything is covered." 

"Mr. Filch isn't still accusing me, is he?" I wonder. 

"Not loudly, at least," McGonagall says. 

I nod. "So can you tell me what happened?" I ask quietly. 

"Justin Finch-Fletchley is dead," McGonagall says. "Not a mark on his body. Very likely from the Killing Curse. We've locked down the school. Whoever the murderer is won't get away from us easily." 

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," I repeat. "He's in Hufflepuff, isn't he? Or was, at any rate. Was he a Muggleborn?" 

"Indeed," McGongall says, looking at me intently. "I normally would be opposed to burdening someone as young as you with these matters, but the Headmaster has insisted that we are not to keep secrets from you. Although I don't know what he's thinking if he believes that a twelve year old boy will be able to stop the Heir of Slytherin." 

"I do have special circumstances, you know," I reply. 

"I don't see how surviving a Killing Curse when you were a year old qualifies you for battling Dark wizards at your age," McGonagall says. "But I will trust the word of the Headmaster." 

"Do you have any idea who the Heir of Slytherin might be?" I ask. 

"So far as we know, _none_ of the students currently attending Hogwarts are descended from Salazar Slytherin," McGonagall replies. 

"What if they were the descendant of a Squib who was cast off long ago?" I ask. 

McGonagall thinks about that for a moment. "That's entirely possible, I suppose. I hadn't considered that. I can't imagine that Slytherin would be particularly happy about his true heir being of that sort of bloodline, though, but blood itself knows no politics. And if this hypothetical Squib was never formally disowned for whatever reason... I'll need to do some more research, if we can't catch anyone today." 

"Who was the girl who found Justin's body?" I ask. 

"That was Jennifer Stillman," McGonagall replies. "First year Hufflepuff, also a Muggleborn." 

"Were any of the upper-year Slytherins unaccounted for at the time of the murder?" I ask. 

"They were the first ones we questioned," McGonagall says. "But they all have airtight alibis. Of course, they would support one another, so they may all merely be accomplices..." 

"And none of them were anywhere near Justin's body in the time leading up to the murder?" I ask. 

McGonagall shakes her head. "Not that anyone saw." 

Then it dawns on me with a cold dread that there _is_ a Slytherin who is capable of moving around unseen. "Professor," I say, swallowing a lump in my throat. "I need to speak with Professor Snape. Immediately." 

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says, raising an eyebrow at me, but not asking for further elaboration. 

We head over to Snape's office. McGonagall knocks on the door, and the two of us head inside. "Ah, Potter," Snape says. "I was hoping to speak with you." He looks to McGonagall. "Leave us, now, Minerva. I must speak privately with the boy." 

"I don't see what you can tell him that you can't tell me," McGonagall says, looking a little offended. 

Snape looks at her impatiently. "These are very delicate matters, and the fewer people who know the details, the better." 

"Fine, but I _will_ speak with the Headmaster about this," McGonagall says, storming out of the room. 

Snape sighs and closes the door behind her, pulls out his wand and mutters, " _Colloportus. Muffliato._ " He looks seriously at me and says, "Have you found out anything, Stormseeker?" 

I shake my head. "Professor, precisely at what time did Justin die?" I ask. 

"We estimate that he must have died at around half past seven o'clock," Snape says. 

"Good," I say. "I was awake at that time. I might still be able to save him... And you can't argue with me that going back to try to save someone isn't a good reason." 

"I wasn't about to suggest such," Snape says dryly. 

"But I need to find out anything I can first," I say. "Professor, did you question Draco with Legilimency about the invisibility cloak?" 

"I have not," Snape says, his face darkening. "But you are right, we should certainly do so. Do you suspect that he might have murdered Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" 

"I don't know," I say. "But even if he didn't, he might have lost or loaned the cloak to another Slytherin." 

"I shall return momentarily," Snape says. He leaves the room. Shortly afterward, he comes back with Draco Malfoy in tow. 

"What is _he_ doing here?" Draco demands, glaring at me. 

"Mr. Potter is a part of this investigation," Snape says. "And is it vitally important, for your own sake if nothing else, that you answer truthfully about this. Where is the invisibility cloak?" 

"I'm not giving it back, if that's what you mean," Draco retorts. 

"I don't care about _that_ ," I say. "We just need to make sure that someone hasn't used it to murder anyone!" 

Draco's face pales. "Look, I didn't do it, alright?" 

Snape gives a faint nod. His Legilimency must have verified the truth in that. "I believe you, Mr. Malfoy. But where is the cloak?" 

"It's in my trunk," Draco says. 

"You didn't loan it out to anyone?" I say. "And it wasn't stolen?" 

"No," Draco insists. "I don't think anyone else even knows I have it!" 

"Let us go check your trunk, then, just in case," Snape says. "Remain here, Potter." 

The two of them leave again. I wait patiently for several minutes, thinking on what I've learned, and coming to the conclusion that I don't know nearly enough. Everything just raises more questions. After a while, Snape returns to the office, alone. 

"The cloak was still safely tucked away in his trunk," Snape says. "It did not appear to have been tampered with." 

I sigh softly. "Alright, that's one angle that's cleared up. Can you show me to the scene of the crime?" 

"Very well," Snape says. "You might not be much of a fighter or investigator yourself, but failing all else, we can give you the information needed to send back to this morning in order to prevent this." 

We leave the office, and Snape takes me to the stretch of corridor where the body was found. No sign of a fight or anything. Nothing that would indicate anything had even happened here if Snape didn't point out exactly the spot where the corpse had been. I look around, hoping that there might be portraits nearby who might have seen something, but no such luck. 

"Why here?" I wonder. 

"No witnesses?" Snape suggests. "It's a fairly out-of-the-way place, no paintings around." 

"Perfect for sneaking up and snapping off a Killing Curse, and then gone before anyone even realizes you were there," I say with a sigh. "Professor, you've spent more time around the Slytherins than most. Do you know any of them that might have expressed a particular hatred toward Muggleborns?" 

Snape looks at me like I've said something stupid. "They're _Slytherins_." 

"Right, never mind," I say. I frown a little at the empty spot on the floor. "Why didn't the killer dispose of the body?" I ask suddenly. 

"Perhaps they left it as a warning?" Snape suggests. "A demonstration of what happens to those who oppose the Heir?" 

I shake my head. "He was just laying here. If Jennifer hadn't come along, it could have been hours before anyone even realized he was missing, never mind dead." 

"Maybe they heard someone coming and had to leave quickly, so that they weren't discovered," Snape says. 

I nod. "Better reason for just leaving him where he lay." I frown some more, trying to think. I feel like I'm missing something. Something important. Some vital piece of this puzzle. But I don't know what it is or how it might fit. 

I'm very confused. I bring to mind Luna's advice. I must try to think clearly. Question my assumptions. But this isn't helping. 

"This is getting us nowhere," I say. "Let's go back." 

We return to Snape's office. I'm a little frustrated. I may not have much chance at this. If last year's debacle with the Philosopher's Stone is any indication, I only have about seven attempts before I become useless to do anything. I'm pacing around the room, thinking, when there's a knock on the door. Dumbledore is here. 

"Stormseeker, have you learned anything?" Dumbledore asks. 

"No," I say. "I'm drawing a blank. Do you have any information that I can take back? Have you found out who the killer is yet?" 

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore says. "I feared that Lord Voldemort was in the castle again..." 

"Did he open the Chamber of Secrets previously?" I ask. 

"There was no evidence to link him to it, but I cannot believe that it was anyone else," Dumbledore says. "A student was murdered at that time, as well, but he managed to pin the crime on Rubeus Hagrid instead." 

I stare at him incredulously. "Why would _anyone_ believe that Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin? Salazar must have been rolling in his grave!" 

"It seems a foolish notion, perhaps," Dumbledore says. "An obvious scapegoat, but a scapegoat was needed, to divert attention from the truth." 

"And the real murderer got away scot-free," I say with a sigh. "Who was killed?" 

"A Muggleborn student by the name of Myrtle," Dumbledore says. "She currently haunts the first-floor girls' lavatory as a ghost." 

I stare at him. "What is _with_ that bathroom, anyway?" I wonder. "It seems like an awfully popular place for evil misdeeds for some reason. And didn't anyone think to question the ghost on who killed her?" 

"She's never been particularly responsive," Dumbledore says. "She refuses to talk to most people, and she's especially touchy on the subject of her death." 

I rub my temples. Adults are so bloody _useless_ sometimes. "Fine, _I'll_ talk to her, then." 

I head for the door. Dumbledore stops me, and says, "We should go with you. It could be dangerous wandering around without an adult." 

I glare at him. "If I don't die today, I'm going to have to _kill myself_ in hopes of saving Justin. So what does it really matter? I just hope to find out something useful!" 

"Lexen, I don't know that seeking out death intentionally is appropriate," Dumbledore says. 

"Headmaster," I say firmly, carefully keeping myself calm. "A boy has _died_ today. It may be within my power to save this innocent life. If I can do that, but I choose not to, what kind of a person does that make me?" 

"Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good," Dumbledore says. 

"Don't you _even_ give me that bullshit," I say, starting to lose my calm. "You don't _know_ what's going to happen in the future. Who are you to say which deaths were 'necessary' and which might still have been saved? _Who are you to judge who lives and dies?_ " 

"Stormseeker," Snape says in a warning tone. "Remember your lessons." 

"I _am_ in control, Professor," I say icily. "If I weren't, I would have attacked the Headmaster by now in a rage at the things he's saying." 

"Ah," Snape says dryly. "I see. In that case, I commend your improvement. Electrocuting the Headmaster would be bad." 

"I am simply trying to make sure you understand that you can't always save everyone," Dumbledore says. 

"Don't you think I fucking know that?" I say. "Or have you already forgotten about Hermione?" 

"If you're going out of your way to try to save Justin out of guilt about being unable to save Hermione--" 

"It doesn't matter," I snap. "I would try to save him regardless. Look, I'm going to go talk to Myrtle. Please don't try to stop me. And please don't try to stop me from doing what I believe is right. If I can't use my power to save even a single life, then what's the fucking point?" 

They don't hinder me further as I leave the office. I head upstairs to Moaning Myrtle's restroom. The place is still blocked off with spells, but I know the secret they're protecting already, so they don't keep me out. The ominous writing on the wall is still there. There's a very clean patch of wall around it, and signs of pitting and scoring, indicating that they seem to have tried everything to get rid of the message short of removing the wall itself. 

I step into the restroom. "Myrtle, are you in here?" I call out. 

The floor is drenched as usual. Flooded and overflowing. Myrtle comes out of the toilet to hover before me. "Oh, it's you. The boy that likes to hang around the girls' loo, puking." 

"Harry," I say. "My name is Harry. How are you doing, Myrtle?" 

"Miserable, as always," Myrtle says, sighing dramatically. "Not that you actually _care_ about my feelings, or anything." 

"Why shouldn't I?" I say. "I came to see you, didn't I? It must get awfully lonely in this restroom." 

"Oh, yes, it does," Myrtle says. "Not many girls even come in here if they can help it. And they make fun of me!" 

"I'm sorry," I say. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Nothing!" Myrtle exclaims. "No help for poor Myrtle!" 

"Myrtle," I say gently. "Maybe you can tell me about how you died? Maybe it would help to get that out..." 

"It was horrible!" Myrtle says. "I don't want to think about it! How's a living boy to understand what it's like to _die_?" 

I suppress a smirk at that. "I might understand better than you'd think." 

"Oh, fine, I suppose it wouldn't hurt," Myrtle says. "Olive Hornby made fun of me, and I came in here to cry. But oh did she regret it! I haunted her for the rest of her days in revenge!" 

I frown a little. "But how did you actually die?" 

"I don't know!" Myrtle says. "Just suddenly, I was dead, floating away from my body. They didn't even realize it for hours!" 

"Is that all? No spells or anything?" I wonder. 

"Not that I heard," Myrtle says. "I do remember one thing... I was looking out, right there," she says, pointing at the sink. "And I saw two great big yellow eyes. And then I was dead." 

"I see," I say, staring at the spot myself. "That's all? You just looked, and that was it?" 

"That's all I saw, that's all I remember," Myrtle says. "Now leave me alone! I'm going to go back into the drain and cry just having to think about it again!" 

"Thanks, Myrtle," I say. "And I'm sorry for disturbing you." 

I return to Snape's office. Dumbledore is still there, talking to him. "Did you learn anything, Stormseeker?" Snape asks me. 

"Are there any large, magical snakes that can kill you by looking into their eyes?" I ask. 

"A _basilisk_?" Snape says. 

"Myrtle was killed by a basilisk?" Dumbledore says. 

"The last thing she remembers is looking into two huge yellow eyes," I say. "And I figured Slytherin's monster would most likely have been some sort of snake..." 

"So it wasn't the Killing Curse at all, but a basilisk's gaze," Snape says. "They are quite rare, but that would also certainly kill without leaving a mark." 

"This is grave news indeed," Dumbledore says. "The Heir may not have even been present when Mr. Finch-Fletchley was killed." 

"So, can I go back now?" I ask. 

"You're quite eager to die, Stormseeker," Snape observes dryly. 

"Just give me some poison or something," I say. "Before I lose my nerve." I may not be too thrilled at the thought of dying at all, never mind intentionally, but for the sake of saving a life, I'll do it. 

Snape exchanges a look with Dumbledore, who just looks back helplessly. "Very well, Stormseeker," Snape says, looking through his shelf and pulling out a bottle. "I was in my office from seven till eight o'clock this morning. Good luck." 

"Don't say things like that," I say, grimacing. "Luck is _never_ on my side." 

I take the bottle from him and down it as quickly as I can. It does its work swiftly, and I feel my body go numb, and I collapse. 

* * *

I wake. What time is it? 7:12. I don't have much time. Not even bothering to get dressed, I race out of the Gryffindor dorms and make my way down to the dungeons. Snape's office is unlocked, and I let myself inside. Snape looks up from his desk in alarm, perhaps not the least of which at my dragon pajamas. 

"No time," I say frantically. "Come quickly!" 

Snape follows after me, and I lead him toward the spot where Justin is about to die. "Explain on the way." 

"Basilisk," I say tersely. "Going to kill someone. Hope we're not too late..." 

An enormous snake, ahead of us in the corridor. Dark green scales, and it must be fifty feet long. I quickly fix my gaze upon the floor to make sure I don't look into its eyes. There, I see Justin's body, already laying on the ground. 

"Too late..." I say. "We're too late!" 

" _Sectumsempra!_ " Snape cries, firing off a spell at the monstrous serpent. 

The snake rears around. I watch Snape, casting spell after spell at the basilisk. And then, Snape suddenly goes stiff. Stops moving. Falls to the ground. 

" _SNAPE!_ " I scream. 

I stare at Snape's body as though petrified myself. Then the basilisk's fangs sink into me. I wasn't looking at it, so it has to kill me in another way. Burning venom, coursing through my veins. I sink to my knees next to Snape's lifeless form and wait to die. 

* * *

I wake, panting, heart racing. No time. No time to get help. 7:13. If I'm to save Justin, I'm going to have to do it myself. 

I leap out of bed and race out of the Gryffindor Tower. Down several flights of stairs, down to the corridor where Justin was attacked, will be attacked. I stumble, and almost get lost. This is no time to be getting lost! I'm on a tight schedule here. 

I arrive at the right spot, panting. No one's here yet. I got here in time. Where's Justin? Where's the basilisk? 

There, a boy is approaching. Justin. "Harry Potter? What are you--" 

"Run!" I say frantically. "Run for your life!" 

"What are you talking about?" Justin says in puzzlement. I suddenly realize what this must look like. I'm standing here in the middle of nowhere in my dragon pajamas, screaming weird things at him. 

I hear a faint sound. Hissing, slithering, scales moving against stone. My blood runs cold. "Damn it, Justin, _run_ ," I say. I grab his arm and try to haul him away from the direction the sound is coming from. 

"Let go of me!" Justin says, struggling and stumbling. "What's wrong with you? Have you gone completely mad?" 

"Run, and don't look back!" I say. "There's a monster behind us that will kill you if you look into its eyes!" 

"What?" Justin says. "Oh, come on, this is rubbish." He turns to look back, and suddenly goes stiff in my hands. 

I stumble at the sudden dead weight. I stare at the corpse. "Bloody hell," I say. "Damn it, Justin, I told you not to look!" I'm shaking. I don't even care that the basilisk is bearing down on me. "I told you not to look..." 

The basilisk is upon me. I feel its fangs, its agonizing venom... I'm too slow, I'm too slow, and it's too far. How can I be faster? I'd practically need... to be able to... teleport... 

* * *

I wake. Damn everything. I need to intercept Justin before he gets to that corridor of doom. I race out of the dorm again and down the stairs. I'm running purely on adrenaline now, and I don't have a minute to waste. 

Where was Justin before he got to that hallway? Probably his common room. And he was probably going to the Great Hall for breakfast. Where's the Hufflepuff common room? I have no idea. No, he probably wasn't there, or it'd be a more heavily trafficked area. Doesn't matter, anyway. Assuming he was going to the Great Hall, I head to the corridor that he would have been heading down, the direction that I saw him approaching from last time. 

Alright, here's a good spot. I can hopefully intercept him here, and we'll be safe from the basilisk. Sure enough, there he is. Ah, it looks like he was out back in the greenhouses, maybe. 

"Harry Potter?" Justin says, looking at me strangely. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hey, Justin," I say. "Were you out in the greenhouses?" I keep myself as calm and neutral as possible. Nonchalant, perfectly at ease, perfectly normal. 

"Yeah," Justin says. "Professor Sprout wanted me to check on something. What are you doing out here in your pajamas?" 

"Huh?" I say, feigning innocence and glancing down at myself. "Oh dear! I seem to have forgotten to get dressed before leaving my dormitory. How embarrassing!" 

"Heh," Justin says. "That's quite alright, my sister does that all the time. I'd best get to breakfast, now. I'm starved." 

He starts heading toward that fateful corridor. No, no, no. I must delay him longer! Just a few minutes more! I block his path. 

"Harry, what are you--" Justin says, then suddenly stares at something behind me. "What in blazes is that--" He then falls backwards, stiff as a board, dead. 

Fuck. Either I picked a spot that was still too close to the basilisk, or it hunted him down regardless. The basilisk sinks its teeth into me again, and I fall to the ground beside Justin's body as the venom works its way through my body again. 

* * *

I wake. Force myself out of bed. So very tired. I just want to keep sleeping. Too slow. How will I ever get there in this state? I was already too slow to begin with, and with repeated deaths I'm only getting slower. I'd practically need to teleport, but nobody can teleport in Hogwarts-- 

... except house-elves. "Dobby!" I call. 

The little elf pops into existence before me. "What does Great Master Harry need?" 

"Justin Finch-Fletchley is in the greenhouses," I say. "Can you take me to him?" 

"Dobby can't take wizards with him when he pops around," Dobby replies sadly. "Dobby is so sorry--" 

"No," I say, cutting him off. "Just go there yourself. I don't care what you have to do, but keep him out of the castle for at least half an hour! Hurry!" 

Dobby vanishes again. Hopefully, this will be fast enough. I dig out one of Snape's Wideye potions and guzzle it down for whatever good it might do, although most of my exhaustion is magical in nature. I get dressed, and head downstairs, and make my way to Snape's office. I stumble inside without even bothering to knock. 

Snape glances up, and casts a quick " _Muffliato_ ," and asks, "Stormseeker, is there a problem?" 

"I'm afraid I'm running a little thin at the moment here, Professor," I say wearily. "But if what I've tried this time doesn't help, we won't be able to get there fast enough anyway." I slump down in a chair to save my energy. 

"Explain," Snape says. 

"The creature in the Chamber of Secrets is a basilisk," I say. "That's what killed Moaning Myrtle. That's what wants to kill Justin Finch-Fletchley this morning. But I couldn't get there fast enough, so I sent my house-elf to distract Justin long enough for the danger to pass, since he can teleport inside of the school grounds." 

Snape looks vaguely impressed. "A wise move," he says. 

I snort softly. "Yeah, too bad it only took me four deaths to think of it," I say. "I did try getting you at first, but we were too late. There just wasn't time..." 

"I understand," Snape says. "Hopefully your house-elf has been successful." He pulls out his wand and says, " _Expecto Patronum_." A translucent doe made of silvery light springs into existence before him and looks to him expectantly. "Tell Dumbledore to come to my office immediately." The doe nods and leaps straight through the wall. 

I stare at that display. "You have got to teach me that spell," I say. 

Dumbledore steps out of the fireplace. "Stormseeker?" he says. "Has something happened?" 

I quickly recap to him what I told Snape. "And I told Dobby to keep him out of the castle for at least half an hour, just in case. That should be long enough." 

"A basilisk loose in the castle," Dumbledore says gravely. "You've done as well as you could, under the circumstances, my boy." 

Dobby pops into the room, grinning broadly. Ah, it _has_ been half an hour already. "Dobby has done what Great Master Harry wanted. Dobby kept the Finchy out of the castle for half an hour." 

I impulsively hug the house-elf. "Thanks, Dobby," I say. "You've done well. Real well." 

Dobby starts weeping. "Master Harry is so good to Dobby." 

I smile at him. "Why don't you go home now? Do whatever you like for the rest of the day." 

Dobby brightens. "Dobby will go clean Ron Wheezey's room!" He vanishes. 

I have to laugh aloud at that. Ron will be positively traumatized at how much less messy his room is likely to become. But Dobby's earned it. 

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley is likely to be in the Great Hall soon if he isn't there already," Dumbledore says. "Why don't we head off to breakfast ourselves and make sure that he's safe?" 

"Stormseeker, are you capable of making it through today's classes?" Snape asks. 

I nod. "I'm a bit tired, but so long as it doesn't involve anything too strenuous, I should be fine." 

The three of us head on up to the Great Hall. Sure enough, sitting at the Hufflepuff table, is Justin Finch-Fletchley, alive and well. 

Justin is saying, "And then this weird, filthy little man-like thing with big, floppy ears showed up and started wrecking havoc! It stole my bag and hid my books, and I had to chase it all over the place." 

I have to smile a little to myself. He might be annoyed as hell at Dobby right now. But he doesn't need to know just how close he came to dying today.


	18. Snakes and Spiders

A few days after saving Justin, the next Saturday, my next "detention" with Professor Snape. I wonder how much better at Occlumency I'm going to have to get before he's satisfied with it. 

"Has there been any progress on finding the Heir of Slytherin or catching the basilisk since Thursday's incident?" I ask. 

"I'm afraid not, Stormseeker," Snape answers. 

"Right, so far as anyone knows, there _aren't_ any descendants of Salazar Slytherin at the school," I say. "And there are also no Parselmouths currently attending Hogwarts." 

"How can you be certain of that?" Snape asks. 

"Luna Lovegood told me," I reply. 

"Lovegood?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. "First year Ravenclaw? Isn't she the one that's always prattling on about wrackspurts and nargles?" 

"That's the one," I say. 

"And you listen to _her_?" Snape says. 

I smirk. "Of course. Professor, she knew exactly who I was just by looking at me. I believe that she's a Seeker. This world might call her a Seer, perhaps, but the term doesn't have the same implications at all. A Seeker can see what's already there, not what might yet come to pass." 

"I see," Snape says, frowning a little. "That is entirely conceivable, I suppose. Now, let's see, how is your Occlumency?" 

My barriers _feel_ strong. I feel confident. I'm in control. I can't always keep Snape out completely, but neither can he get in any longer without my realization. I've definitely made improvements. 

"It's not enough to simply keep someone out," Snape says. "You must learn to make them see only what you want to see. You must become Harry Potter." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "Professor? If I may ask, what was that spell you used to send a message to Dumbledore? The one with the glowing animal?" 

"That, Stormseeker, was the Patronus Charm," Snape replies. "A very difficult and complicated spell. It is not limited to mere communication, although that is a very useful aspect to it that not everyone knows about. Its primary purpose is to defend oneself against certain sorts of Dark creatures, such as Dementors and Lethifolds." 

"Is there any chance that I could learn it?" I ask. 

"That is doubtful," Snape says with a touch of exasperation. "Not with your level of experience." He sees the eager look on my face and rolls his eyes, sighing. "I would really rather you focus your efforts on mastering Occlumency, but if you insist upon this..." He pulls a book from a shelf and hands it to me. "Learn _about_ the Patronus Charm. Read this book in your spare time. I will not further waste my time in teaching you this, Stormseeker, but you may study it on your own. It is not a dangerous spell to use, just difficult." 

"Yes, sir," I say, taking the book from him. "Thank you, sir." 

"Now, back to the Occlumency lesson," Snape says. 

* * *

I spend some time over the next couple weeks reading up on the Patronus Charm and trying to practice it a little, to no effect. The book details the proper wand movements and pronunciation, but also mentions that, in order to properly cast the spell, I need to focus upon a happy thought. Magic fueled by emotion doesn't seem like such a strange concept to me. However, I don't seem to have a lot of happiness to draw upon. I have too much anger, fear, and hatred in me, I think. 

Well, I'm not about to give up on it so easily. I approach Percy in the common room one Saturday morning. "Hey, Percy?" I say. "You busy?" 

"Not really," Percy replies. "You need help with something, Harry?" 

"Just a bit of extracurricular reading material," I say. "Do you know anything about the Patronus Charm?" 

Percy raises an eyebrow at me. "That's high-level defense magic. What are you reading about that for?" 

"I thought it might be useful to know," I explain. 

"I imagine it would, but I doubt you'd be able to cast it anytime soon," Percy says. "I can't imagine there are many students who can cast it, even the sixth and seventh years. Although that's probably at least partially to blame on the lack of decent defense professors. Many qualified adult wizards can't even cast it, though." 

"Is it that complex, or are that many wizards not particularly happy?" I ask. 

Percy shrugs. "I don't really know. I haven't learned it, myself." 

I give a nod. "I see. Well, thanks anyway. I'll keep at it, though. Maybe I'll be able to cast it by the time I leave school." 

"I'm sure persistence will pay off, if you're that determined to be able to cast it," Percy says. "Thinking of becoming an Auror when you grow up?" 

"I don't know," I say. "Maybe. We'll see." That would entirely depend on whether I actually make it to the end of the school year, and furthermore on whether I will want to remain in this world for a while longer afterward, never mind what I might like to do here. More likely, if I'm to stay here longer, it would be to engage in further, advanced studies of magic. But right now, that prospect seems a very long way off. Lifetimes away. 

* * *

Come December, announcements have been posted regarding the opening of a dueling club. Now that's something I'll be sure to sign up for. Maybe I'll actually be able to pick up some decent combat spells there that Lockhart is too inept to actually teach. 

"You going to the Dueling Club tonight, Harry?" Ron asks. 

"Certainly," I reply. 

"Really? I'd have expected you to be tucked away in a book or something," Ron says. 

I snort softly. "Come now, I'm not a Ravenclaw. I read books to learn how to fight and protect people... because I'm sure not learning how from Lockhart." 

"Point," Ron says. 

That evening, there's quite the crowd gathered in the Great Hall for the first meeting of the new Dueling Club. There's a good deal of murmuring about it going on, wondering who will be heading it. And then Lockhart strides onto the stage in rich purple robes, along with Snape, who is most definitely _not_ wearing purple robes. 

"Tell me Snape is leading this club, and not Lockhart," I mutter. 

"You're actually hoping for _Snape_?" Ron says incredulously. "But he's a cruel and miserable greasy git!" 

"He also knows which way his wand is supposed to go," I reply. "And would _never_ hide under his desk from pixies." 

"Point," Ron says. 

Lockhart takes the stage with a flourish, making sure that everyone can see and hear his magnificent self. "Welcome, students, to the first meeting of the new Hogwarts Dueling Club! The Headmaster has given me permission to start this club, in hopes that I might be able to train some of you to defend yourselves even half as well as I have on numerous occasions!" 

"We are so doomed," Ron whispers. 

"Professor Snape here will be assisting me with a little demonstration," Lockhart says. "He assures me that he knows a little about dueling himself. But rest assured, students, that I will not seriously harm him!" 

"Go Snape!" I shout, whistling enthusiastically, and earning myself odd looks from almost everyone. 

I could swear that Snape is almost grinning. The two of them hold out their wands, face one another, and bow. Then the duel begins on the count of three. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Snape casts. There's a brilliant flash of light, and Lockhart is thrown back off the stage, into the far wall, and slumps down to sprawl out on the floor. 

"Woohoo!" I cry, cheering and applauding along with several of the Slytherins. Ron gives me a sidelong glance and adds a bit of polite applause as well. 

"Oh, I hope he's alright," Lavender says. 

Lockhart slowly climbs to his feet, brushing himself off self-consciously. "Ah, yes, as you can see, that was the Disarming Charm," Lockhart explains. "And I have lost my wand." It seems to have landed near Lavender, who picks it up and hands it back to him. "Ah, thank you. Yes, Professor Snape, a good choice in showing them that, a very handy spell, although it was very obvious what you were about to do, you know. I merely let them see how effective the spell can be in practice." 

"Sure you did," mutters Ron. 

Upon seeing Snape's positively murderous look, Lockhart decides that this is a good time to pair us off to practice the Disarming Charm with one another. I pair off with Ron, and we start practicing. 

"Just remember, everyone," I say to my classmates around me. "Try to do what Snape did, not what Lockhart did." 

A couple people snicker at that, but I also receive a couple glares, a concerned look or two, and wide-eyed horror from Lavender. I shrug and turn to Ron. If they really want to get knocked on their butts and drop their wands, there's not too much I can do about it. Personally, I intend to take after Snape. 

As we're practicing, Ron gets hit by a stray spell from Neville and tumbles to the ground. "Ow!" Ron cries. 

"Sorry!" Neville says. 

Ron's nose is bleeding profusely, and my sense of dread only increases as Lockhart approaches to try to "help". 

"Ah, careful there," Lockhart says. "I'll get that for you." He waves his wand, but the only effect is that Ron is now bleeding from his eyes, ears, and mouth now in addition to his nose. 

" _Episkey_ ," Snape says from behind me, pointing his wand at Ron. The bleeding slows, but doesn't seem to quite stop. "Longbottom, get Weasley to the hospital wing immediately." 

Neville nods in terror and hurries off with Ron, who is trying in vain to staunch the bleeding with his robes as he goes off. 

"Why don't we have a volunteer pair do another little demonstration?" Lockhart says. "Say, Potter and Malfoy. Why don't you come up to the stage and show us how it's done?" 

Does he really hate me that much? No matter. I head up to the stage and take my position across from Draco. He sneers at me disdainfully. I imagine it would be much more than mere disdain if he realized that I was the one who murdered his parents. It would be only right for him to try to get his revenge, then. 

"Are you scared, Potter?" Draco asks. 

No, I think. Not of you, not of dying, not of whatever spell you could think up to try to kill or humiliate me with. "Only of Lockhart trying to 'help' me," I mutter. 

Draco snorts in amusement at that. 

"Alright, boys," Lockhart says. "Face one another, and bow." Draco and I give one another only the slightest of bows, never letting our eyes off one another. "Now, begin on the count of three... One, two--" 

" _Serpensortia!_ " Draco cries. A large, black snake erupts from the end of his wand and lands before me. 

"Nice spell," I say, looking down at the snake. So, is it deadly poisonous? Am I about to die again? But I'm calm. Is it my Occlumency skills, or merely a thought that it would simply be justice if he got to kill me at least once? 

"Keep still, Potter," Snape tells me. "I'll take care of it." 

"No, no," Lockhart says. "I'll do it!" 

I watch in horror as Lockhart casts _something_ idiotic, and sends the snake flying across the room to land in front of Blaise Zabini. The dark-skinned Slytherin boy jumps in surprise, and the snake raises itself and opens its mouth, ready to strike. 

" _Immobulus!_ " I shout, pointing my wand at the snake. In a flash, the serpent is frozen in place, as still as Filch's cat. 

Snape goes over and waves his wand at the snake, making it vanish. "Five points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking, Potter." 

"Now..." I say, turning back to the stage. " _Expelliarmus!_ " Lockhart's wand flies out of his hand. 

"Ah, you've got the spell down perfectly," Lockhart says. "But Draco is your opponent, not I. You're supposed to cast it on Draco." 

"I think _you_ are the more immediate threat here, Lockhart," I comment dryly. 

There's jeers of laughter from the Slytherin section, but Blaise Zabini looks at me gratefully and starts applauding. Lavender looks scandalized. 

"I think that's been quite enough of this little demonstration," Snape says. 

The meeting breaks up, and we're sent on back to our common rooms. Before we go, however, Blaise approaches me and says, "Potter. I want to thank you." 

"Don't mention it," I say. "I would have helped anyone." 

"Not many would go out of their way to help a Slytherin," Blaise says. "I must admit I didn't expect it of you. And you were cheering on Professor Snape, too..." 

"Heh," I say, snorting sortly. "Did you expect me to cheer on _Lockhart_? He's a menace to my continued well-being, sanity, and good taste." 

Blaise chuckles softly. "You know, I think you're alright. For a Gryffindor." 

* * *

As the winter holidays approach, I receive a message from Hagrid inviting me to tea one afternoon before the end of term. I haven't talked with him much for a while, not since we lost Norbert, so I head on out with Ron and Neville, bundled up in scarves and coats against the cold. 

"Hello, boys," Hagrid says. "I've got a batch of fresh-made rock cakes for you. I know you all love them so much." 

"Thanks, Hagrid," I say, my teeth practically hurting at the very thought of it. 

"I, er, I'm sorry about Norbert," Hagrid says. "It was all my fault that you got in trouble for it, Harry. You were just as excited about him as I was, I know..." 

I shake my head. "Don't worry about it." 

"So how've your classes been?" Hagrid asks. "Term going well for you?" 

"Everything except Defense, as usual," I say dryly. 

"That bad, is he?" Hagrid says, shaking his head. "Position's been cursed for so long it's a wonder anyone can defend themselves at all these days." 

"In our first class, he hid under his desk from pixies," I say. 

"He's never going to live that down," Ron adds. 

"Anything interesting been happening out this way?" I ask. 

"Eh, not really," Hagrid says. "Going to need to remember to ask the Headmaster for permission to put a charm on the chicken coop. Two roosters dead in the past week. Probably a fox or a bugbear, I reckon." 

"Oh," I say. "Nothing too interesting, then? I mean, no more dragon eggs, or other dangerous and potentially illegal things?" 

Hagrid chuckles softly. "Well, when you put it that way, why don't I introduce you to Aragog?" 

"Aragog?" I repeat. 

"Aragog's an Acromantula," Hagrid says. "I got him when he was an egg, oh, fifty years ago or so. He's been living out in the Forbidden Forest ever since." 

"A-- an Acromantula?" Ron says, turning pale. "I think-- I'll pass on this one. You guys can go on ahead if you like." 

"Ah, you don't need to be scared of old Aragog," Hagrid says. "He's as gentle as a teddy bear. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Well, maybe a big enough fly to eat, I suppose. But he wouldn't hurt a student." 

Ron shakes his head. "No, no, I just, I don't like spiders, alright?" 

"I'll pass, too," Neville says. "I'm not scared of spiders, but I don't have you or Harry's love of hanging around dangerous creatures." 

"Suit yourself," Hagrid says. 

After finishing up with tea, Neville and Ron head back to the castle, leaving Hagrid and I to take a little trip out into the Forbidden Forest along with Hagrid's dog, Fang. 

I remember what Dumbledore told me on Halloween, about Hagrid. I should really ask him about it. Neville and Ron aren't around to hear anymore, although I doubt they've let Hagrid in on what happened. He's terrible at keeping secrets. Still, I'd like to hear his take on things. 

"Hagrid," I say. "Why were you expelled from Hogwarts?" 

"Eh, I don't really like to talk about it," Hagrid says. "But Aragog was the reason, actually. They thought he'd killed someone." 

I frown a little. "So if Norbert had wound up hurting anyone..." 

Hagrid grimaces, and nods gravely. "They might've snapped your wand in two, just like they did mine." 

"I wouldn't have let them," I say firmly. "I'd have fought to the death over it." 

"Not very sensible, but very brave. Very Gryffindor," Hagrid says. Not that dying is really very brave for me. All it means is I'd have another chance to get away. "Here we are." 

Hagrid has led me fairly far into the forest, and there are numerous spiders of unusual size scurrying about. And there, ahead, in the center of a massive web, is a spider as big as a small dragon. 

"Who is there?" says the enormous spider. A talking spider? Sure, why not. 

"It's Hagrid. And I've brought a good friend. Harry Potter." 

"Hello," I say brightly. "So you're Aragog? I've never really met a spider before..." 

"Ah," the spider says. "A friend of Hagrid. Yes, I am Aragog. Hagrid has never brought others into our home before." 

"Well, Harry here is special," Hagrid says. 

"You could say that, I suppose," I say dryly. "I'm sorry anyone thought you killed anyone, Aragog." 

"I never harmed a human," Aragog says. "But some humans are all too willing to believe that those such as I are merely dumb beasts." 

"Well, _I_ think you're great," I say. Okay, so spiders aren't really my thing, and I'd rather go in for reptiles at least. But it would be quite rude, not to mention unwise, to insult such a creature in his presence. 

We talk for a short while, and then head back. It's getting late, and it's a bit of a walk. "Don't want you out after curfew," Hagrid says. "But I suppose you could always just sneak back with that cloak of yours." 

I don't mention that I don't have it anymore, and sneaking around the castle at night is a bit more risky. I dread the terrible thought of having to help Lockhart answer his fan mail again. I wanted to interrogate Hagrid about things a bit more, but I can't think of how to word my questions without giving too much away. I don't want him to realize _why_ I'm asking these things. I couldn't even think of anything good to say to the spider! I feel so useless sometimes. 

At least I wind up making it back to the castle safely, just before curfew. No disasters today. So why am I so tense?


	19. Elven Winter

I'm spending the winter holidays at the Burrow this year, just as I did the summer. I still don't know what I should get people for Christmas, but I'm determined not to stress about it. They're my friends. They'll be happy with whatever I give them. 

Molly Weasley gives me, her sons, and her daughter big hugs when we get to King's Cross Station. It must be lonely at the Burrow for much of the year, with all of her children in school now. 

When I arrive back at the Burrow, I notice that it's a lot cleaner and neater than it was toward the end of the summer. Wow, Dobby must have been bored. Everything is neatly washed and polished, and there's not a thing out of place. 

"Geez, Mum, I hardly recognize the place," Ron says, looking around himself. 

"Oh, that wasn't me," Molly says. "Dobby's been quite the dear to have around, but he's very enthusiastic at times. I can't keep up with him!" She laughs softly. 

Ron heads upstairs to his room, and then stands slack-jawed in the doorway. "Gah! Way too enthusiastic! I'll never be able to find anything in here!" 

I have to laugh. "Oh, relax, Ron. He means well. You don't want to be a Malfoy, do you?" 

Ron grumbles a little, but doesn't complain about the house-elf any further. 

* * *

On the second day of winter break, I'm eating breakfast with all of the Weasleys. They're chatting about what's been going on at school, but I'm fairly quiet about it. There's a lot going on that I can't talk about, not right now, not now, not yet, and hopefully not ever. So I assure Arthur and Molly that my studies are going well, and focus on eating. 

An elf appears in the room with a soft pop. Not Dobby, but Rispy. He's wearing actual clothes this time, little clothes neatly tailored to fit an elf. And he's still got a long knife tucked into his belt, even if it's an actual belt now. 

"Dobby--" Molly says, before turning to look at him. She blinks. "Wait, what? Who are you?" 

"Hello, Rispy," I say. 

"You know this house-elf, Harry?" Molly says. "Oh, did you buy another one?" 

"I'm not a house-elf," Rispy snaps. "I'm not a slave. Not again. Never again. I'm a free elf! And I will die free!" 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you..." Molly says. "I've never met a... free elf before. But if you're a friend of Harry's, you're welcome here. Would you like some breakfast?" 

Rispy softens a bit at that. "Harry told me not all wizards are bad. Maybe he was right... I accept your hospitality, Lady of the House." Rispy gives a suave bow toward Molly. 

Molly brings out another plate and set of silverware for the new arrival. As she's doing so, Dobby pops in and says, "Dobby can do that!" 

"Dobby," Rispy says. "Still working for wizards like a common slave?" 

"Dobby is happy!" Dobby insists. "Great Master Harry is good to Dobby! Better than Dobby ever deserved or ever hoped to have! Wheezeys are good to Dobby too! Dobby love it here!" 

"And yet you're serving them a breakfast that you get to eat none of yourself," Rispy points out. 

"Dobby doesn't need--" 

"He's right, Dobby," I put in. "Why don't you join us? You're part of this family, too." 

Dobby stares at me in disbelief for a few moments before bursting into tears. "Master Harry is too good to Dobby!" 

"You're more than welcome, Dobby," Molly says, smiling at him gently. "Here, I'll get you a plate." She sets out a place for him before he can argue. 

"Dobby is so happy..." Dobby says through sobs. "Wizards welcome him like family, treat him like equal..." Finally, Dobby stops weeping in joy and sits down to eat breakfast with us, even though by that point we're half done with the meal anyway. At least there's plenty of food laid out. I'm going to need to go grocery shopping, however, I think. 

"So, Rispy, what brings you here?" I ask. "I thought you were going back home to Ireland." 

"I did," Rispy says, spearing a sausage with a fork a little violently. "I spent the last few months there. But, well, I got bored. I don't want to stay cooped up in that little village my whole life, even if it might be dangerous." 

"Can't stay away from the adventure, huh?" I say. "So what are you planning to do now?" 

"I don't know," Rispy says. "I'd really like to see the world, you know? But I'll have to be more careful. I don't want to have to be a slave ever again." 

"Well, you're always welcome here if you ever need a place to stay or hide," Molly says graciously. "We certainly won't try to make you do anything against your will!" 

"Your continued offer of hospitality is appreciated, Lady of the House," Rispy says, inclining his head toward her. 

"Please, call me Molly." 

"I think I wouldn't mind staying here a while before moving on," Rispy says. He smirks a little at the other house-elf. "Maybe teach Dobby how to be a proper elf while I'm here, too." 

"Dobby isn't proper elf already?" Dobby says, looking at the other elf strangely. 

"You have a long way to go," Rispy says. "Our people in servitude have forgotten so much... You've forgotten our culture, our heritage, our history. Things were not always the way they are now..." 

* * *

I return from grocery shopping that afternoon, and go to put things away in the kitchen. Dobby, seeming to magically sense chores being done without him, pops into the room to help. 

"Dobby can do that!" Dobby says enthusiastically. "Great Master Harry should just sit down and relax and leave the work to Dobby!" 

I try to protest weakly, but Dobby is quite eager and aggressive when he sets his mind on something, so after a moment I just give up with a sigh and take a seat. "Alright, alright." 

"Why haven't you freed Dobby yet?" Rispy asks, standing in the doorway to the kitchen in an accusatory pose, almost threatening. 

"No!" Dobby exclaims, looking suddenly panicked and almost dropping the eggs. "Dobby not want that! Dobby not want to be cast out of the house!" 

"I didn't say anything about being _thrown out_ ," Rispy says firmly. "I just said _freed_. _I'm_ a free elf, and they welcomed _me_ into their home, did they not?" 

Dobby pauses for a moment in his protests to think about that before continuing. "But Dobby want help Great Master Harry! He help Dobby, and not ask much, but when he ask, if Dobby free, Dobby wouldn't hear him call. Dobby wouldn't be able to help then!" 

I frown a little. Am I really keeping this poor creature enslaved purely for my own convenience? That doesn't feel right. "You know I'd free you in an instant if you ever wanted it, Dobby," I say. 

"No!" Dobby says. "Dobby want help Great Master Harry!" 

"You're just brainwashed into thinking that way, Dobby," Rispy says. "Into thinking that you need to serve a wizard in order for your life to have meaning and purpose. But that's not true, Dobby! You can be your own elf!" 

"You could even keep doing the work you're already doing if you really want to," I suggest. "I could pay you, even." 

"Pay?" Dobby says dubiously. 

"Think about it, alright?" I say. 

* * *

"Did you hear in school about what happened with the Malfoys?" Arthur asks. 

"Arthur, you shouldn't bother them with things like that," Molly says, not looking up from her knitting. 

Arthur ignores her. "Did young Draco say anything about it?" 

I look up into Arthur Weasley's eyes. There's a look of delight on his face, and I can just imagine how his eyes must have lit up with joy when he heard about Lucius Malfoy's death. I imagine that he has good reason to have disliked Lucius. And yet, that doesn't feel right. 

"I'm not celebrating death, Mr. Weasley," I reply. 

Arthur frowns at me. "Don't tell me you feel bad about this?" 

"Arthur!" Molly scolds. 

"I'm not arguing that any of them are or were good people or anything," I say, sighing. "All I'm saying is that there's a young boy who now has no parents to return home to for Christmas." 

"You're absolutely right, Harry," Molly says. 

"All life is precious," I say quietly, looking at the floor. I have to believe that. I'm already a murderer. If I don't believe that life is precious, what's to stop me from murdering anyone I please? 

"They were horrible people," Arthur says. "But I suppose you're right." 

"I just wish they'd been better people," I say. If they had, then they wouldn't have had to die. At least Rispy has been quite discreet about the matter. He is by no means stupid. 

Why is it harder to kill than to die? I suppose, by dying, you don't have to live with the consequences of your actions. I'm sure I would drive myself mad if I were to spend more time dwelling on all the timelines I've left behind, moving on without me. All the friends I've led to their deaths. All the problems left unsolved. There's no use dwelling on it, however. I can't do anything about them any longer. I must always stay focused on the here and now. 

"I can't believe you're defending them," Ron says quietly. 

"I'm not," I say. 

"Enough of the morbid talk," Molly says. "It's almost Christmas. Harry's right. We're not celebrating death here." 

"We're celebrating life," I add. "Family, friendship, love, and hope." 

I try to bury the dreadful thought that, if things go terribly wrong next term, this might be the last time I ever see any of them again. There's still a basilisk and the Heir of Slytherin at large, and no progress has been made in stopping them yet. 

Ron makes a face at the sentimentality of it, and goes off, leaving me alone with his parents. 

"Out of curiosity," I say. "Can either of you cast the Patronus Charm?" 

"We both can," Arthur replies. 

"Why do you want to know?" Molly asks. 

"Oh, I've been studying it recently in my spare time," I say. "Everyone tells me that it's supposed to be a difficult spell, but I'm stubborn." 

"Well, you won't be able to cast it by pure _stubbornness_ ," Molly says. 

"You're awfully young to be studying a spell of that level," Arthur says. "But your initiative and determination is admirable." 

"Do you have any pointers for casting it?" I ask. 

"The emotion is the key to it," Molly says. "The stronger the emotion, the stronger the spell." 

"That makes sense," I say. "If it's not too personal, may I ask what your happy thoughts are?" 

"It's quite alright, dear," Molly says. "For me, it's the birth of Ginny. 

"Mine is getting married to Molly," Arthur says with a grin. 

"Hmm," I say, frowning a little. "Will I be hindered in casting the spell because I haven't been married or had children yet?" 

"No, not at all," Arthur says. "Although family can be a very strong happy thought, it's not the only possible one. Someone's parents, siblings, or friends could also constitute good thoughts for them. I've known plenty of successful Aurors who were able to cast the spell long before being married, if they ever got married at all." 

How can I think happy thoughts about my family and friends when they're so easily juxtaposed to horrible thoughts? Life is so precious and fragile, and I fear that these things I have lost, I might lose forever and never get back. Even the things I have now seem to be in constant danger of slipping away from my grasp, falling to the ground and shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. 

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, looking to the floor. 

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to remind you of what happened to your parents," Arthur says. 

My control slipped, or I just let down my guard around them, whichever, but they saw my true emotions. At least they misinterpreted it. This lie I'm living wears on me at times. 

I shake my head. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I even remember them, anyway. I was more sad over more recent events. I've another family, after all. But I left them behind, back in America. I just hope I can see them again someday." 

"Why don't you go home to the States for Christmas or summer holidays?" Molly asks. 

"I can't," I say. 

"Why not?" Molly asks. 

"I can't really talk about it," I say. "I'm sorry. Dumbledore..." 

"Ah," Molly says. "I understand. Say no more." 

Someday, I tell myself, I won't have to lie to them. Maybe not in this lifetime, maybe not in the next, but someday they will know me for myself. I wonder if I can use Occlumency to convince _myself_ that this isn't all a huge lie. But those are dangerous thoughts. I must not forget. I must not lie to myself. 

* * *

It's Christmas morning. Outside, the ground is blanketed in a heavy layer of snow. But inside of the Burrow, there's a warm fire crackling on the heart. The tree is decorated with candles and ornaments, and underneath it, a pile of brightly wrapped gifts has been arranged. 

Everyone seems excited this morning. Well, everyone except Ginny, who seems fairly withdrawn. She's been pretty quiet for the entire holiday. I vaguely remember what Luna said, about her acting strangely around me. I don't know if it's just that, though. Something really seems to be bothering her. 

"Hey, Ginny," I say. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ginny mutters. 

"You sure?" I say. "You know you can tell me anything." 

"Everything's fine, alright?" Ginny says more insistantly. 

"Alright, alright." 

I don't care to push it at the moment. If she says it's alright, I'll take her word on it. It's Christmas, after all. It's supposed to be a happy time. Maybe she's just tired. Maybe I'm just imagining things. 

We start distributing and opening the presents. Quite a few of them turn out to be sweets. Yeah, so I got almost everyone sweets again. And I got quite a few sweets back in return. 

"Here, Dobby," I say, holding out a box to him. "This one's for you." 

Dobby looks at the brightly-wrapped gift in confusion, taking it hesitantly. "You give Dobby present?" 

"Open it up," I urge him, grinning. 

Dobby tears off the wrapping paper and looks wide-eyed at the object inside, almost dropping the box. He pulls it out in trembling hands. An emerald green elf-sized sweater with a D on the front. "You... you... gives Dobby clothes?" 

"You're free, to do whatever you please, Dobby," I say. 

"But it also means that you're a member of this family," Molly says. "This is your home, and you're always welcome here. We won't cast you out or turn you away." She was the one who actually made the sweater at the last minute by my request. 

Dobby begins to weep openly in pure joy. "You best wizards ever..." 

* * *

Christmas evening, I tuck myself away alone in Ron's room and decide to try to give the Patronus Charm a shot again. I wouldn't be able to cast magic over the holidays if I were in a Muggle environment, but I'm not and I don't intend to ever be if I can possibly help it. There's adult wizards around, so I won't get into trouble for it. 

I didn't free Dobby with the express purpose of trying to generate a happy thought that might be enough to make a Patronus. But I have to wonder if it will suffice, regardless. I bring to mind Dobby's expression, his tears of joy and shaking hands. All of the love and warmth of being accepted by a family. _(I think of Draco, alone at Christmas, unable to ever go home to his family again.)_

" _Expecto Patronum_." Nothing. 

I think of Rispy, holding out a single green sock in disbelief, overjoyed at being freed from the shackles of slavery that he was forced into. _(I think of Lucius and Narcissa, sprawled out on the dining room floor. I murdered the Malfoys for his sake.)_

" _Expecto Patronum_." No effect. 

I think of Justin Finch-Fletchley, alive and well at the breakfast table, annoyed at being pestered by a house-elf, and never realizing that it was to save his life. _(I think of Hermione, alone in a restroom, crushed by a troll's club. I could not save her.)_

" _Expecto Patronum_." Not even a flicker. 

I think of Norbert, hatching from his egg, black shards scattering over the table as he takes his first breaths of flame and looks around at his new family. _(A family that could not keep him for very long. I think of how sad he must have been when he was taken away.)_

" _Expecto Patronum_." Not the slighest spark. 

"Harry? What are you doing?" Ron says from the doorway. 

I shake my head and put my wand away. "Nothing, apparently," I reply. 

It's not that I'm exactly unhappy or anything, far from it. It's just that I can't seem to separate the happy thoughts from the sadness that clings to them in my mind. Every light casts a shadow. The day cannot exist without the night. 

Now I realize why this spell is called difficult. It's not so much that wizards are unhappy, or that the wand movements are complicated. It's like Occlumency. It's all about finding the proper mindset and being able to utilize that at will. I'm not willing to accept the thought that I might never be able to cast this spell, however. I'm not that fatalistic. I'll just have to keep at it and trying different things, until I can get it to work, even if it takes years. 

"Something wrong, Harry?" Ron says. 

I shake my head. "Nah. Just tired. I should get to bed. It's been a long day." 

"If you say so," Ron replies dubiously. "Sleep well." 

Ron goes to sleep, but I find myself laying awake thinking for quite some time afterward. As weary as I might be, my brain won't stop to let me rest. Of course, Ron's snoring doesn't help much, either. 

I pull out my wand and mutter, " _Muffliato._ " The snores continue, however. Oh, right, that won't stop _me_ from hearing him. I sigh softly and mutter, " _Finite Incantatem_." 

I can't sleep, so I get up and quietly head downstairs, careful to make too much noise and avoiding stepping on the squeaky stair. I slip on my shoes and head outside. It's quite chilly out, especially when wearing only my lightning bolt pajamas. 

" _Thermos_ ," I murmur, and the cold seems much less biting as a cushion of warm air surrounds me. 

I step out from the porch, my feet crunching in the snow, and gaze up at the sky. The stars are bright on this clear, moonless winter night. Looking up at the night sky, I can't help but bring to mind my Astronomy lessons, of learning unfamiliar planets and constellations and the meanings of their positions and movements. But I don't have any lessons tonight. Now I should just admire the beauty of the stars. 

There's a sound back from the house, of the door opening, and I turn around to see Ginny standing on the porch. "Ginny?" I say in a hushed voice, as if afraid of disturbing the night. "What are you doing up?" 

Ginny doesn't answer, and just spins around and heads back inside quickly. Well, I suppose it was a stupid question anyway. _I'm_ still up, after all. No matter. I turn back to look at the panorama of the winter night. It's so peaceful here like this. It's hard to imagine any ill in such a scene. The sky just seems to go on forever. 

Back at home, back on Lezaria, they say that the stars are the souls of the dead, forever watching down on us. That's just a story, though. That can't possibly be true. If it were, there would be countless new stars springing up every year. But the stars have been the same forever, eternal and infinite. 

"Still awake, Harry?" Rispy's voice says from behind me. I didn't hear him show up. He must have just quietly popped in. 

"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" I say. 

Rispy nods, stepping up beside me, his own boots crunching against the ice and snow on the ground. "It was a good thing you did today, Harry." 

"I was afraid he'd take it poorly," I say. "Thanks for helping him along the way." 

"I'll make a proper elf out of him yet," Rispy says, grinning a little. "Now I just wish there were more that I could do about all the elves held in servitude around the world." 

"Isn't there?" I say. "The only thing you cannot change is the past." And even that one's a little fuzzy if you're a time traveler. 

Rispy looks thoughtful at that. "You're right," he says. "I'm sure there's something I can do. I'm just one elf. I can't go into open warfare with the entire wizarding world. But maybe that won't be necessary. Harry, can I count on your assistance?" 

"Of course," I reply. "I will do anything in my power to aid your noble cause, Rispy." 

"Thank you," Rispy says softly. "It means a lot to me." 

I look up at the winter stars, pure and bright, and think of hope for freedom for all intelligent beings. I raise my wand, and murmur, " _Expecto Patronum_." For just one second, a light like a small star twinkles at the end of my wand. 

I still have a long way to go. But for now, it's enough.


	20. Black Grackles

The year 1993 begins, and we all return to Hogwarts for the start of the new term. As I look over the crowd of students getting ready to board the Hogwarts Express, I have to wonder how many of them would ever come back if they had any idea of the danger they face. Especially the Muggleborns. I fight down the urge to warn them, to scream at them to run away and never come back. That wouldn't be fair to them. It's up to me to protect them, if they can't protect themselves. 

I'm not about to let my expression slip again, either. I put on a mask of happiness, smiling and cheerful, excited about returning to school. Let them only see what I allow them to see. 

"Be sure to write, children!" Molly is saying to us. "Do your best in your classes! And Fred, George, don't you dare do whatever it was you were just thinking of!" 

"Aw, Mum," Fred says. 

"But you don't even know what we were thinking of!" George says. 

"I don't have to!" Molly says. "You had that look on your face like you've thought of some brilliant prank!" 

"Brother of mine," Fred says. "Do you reckon Mum has become a Legilimens?" 

"I think she just knows us too well," George replies. 

I climb aboard the train and look for a place to sit. As before, Luna is seated in a compartment by herself. "Do you mind if we sit here?" I ask her. 

"Man, you want to sit with Loony Lovegood again?" Ron says. 

"You and your companions are always welcome, Stormseeker," Luna replies dreamily. 

"Bah, you sit here if you want," Ron says. "I'm going to go find Neville." 

I shrug and take a seat across from Luna. It's just as well, really. I'd rather that Ron not get to the point where he might actually believe a lot of what Luna says about me. 

"How was your holiday, Luna?" I ask. 

"My father is well," Luna replies. "Thank you for the Cauldron Cakes." 

The Weasley twins show up and come into our compartment. "Hey, Harry," Fred says. 

" _Colloportus_ ," George murmurs at the door. 

"Hello Fred, George," I say. "What's up?" 

"We have a cunning plan," Fred says. 

"But we need a little help from you," George adds. 

Fred looks sidelong at Luna, and then raises an eyebrow at me. I don't need to be a Legilimens myself to be able to guess that he's wondering if Luna is trustworthy. 

"Don't worry, you can tell Luna anything," I say. "I trust her with my deepest secrets." I give a small grin. 

" _Really_ ," Fred says. 

George clears his throat. "Well then." 

"Anyway," Fred says. "We have this idea, but we're going to need your invisibility cloak to pull it off." 

My face falls. I look to the floor. "I... I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't have it anymore." 

"Aw, why not?" Fred asks. 

"What happened?" George wonders. 

"I screwed up," I say. "Snape found out I had it and confiscated it." 

"That's rubbish!" Fred exclaims. 

"There's no rule against invisibility cloaks," George says. 

"We checked," Fred says. 

"Tell that to Snape," I say dryly. 

"Point," George says. 

"Well, we'll just have to come up with another plan, then," Fred says. 

"See you later, Harry," George says. He cancels his spell, and the two of them leave again. 

Luna watches them leave, and then turns to me and asks, "Was that what really happened, Stormseeker?" 

I shake my head, and pull out my wand. " _Muffliato. Colloportus._ Alright. The truth was that I made the mistake of trusting Draco Malfoy, and he betrayed me," I reply quietly. 

"Ah, I see," Luna says. "Is that why you had his parents killed?" 

"Luna!" I snap. I'm glad I put up the Privacy Charm first. "Why do you think that I'm a murderer, or that I'd murder someone over something like that?" 

"Because there are black grackles around you," Luna replies smoothly. "They're attracted to murder. And they first appeared after Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy died." She seems to look through me. "They're starting to dissipate now, though. They should be gone completely by the end of the term if you don't kill anyone else by that point." 

I open my mouth, stunned. "Wait, what?" 

"I wasn't going to say anything, though," Luna says. "I'm sure you had a good reason for it." 

I sigh. "It wasn't over something so petty as a mere _thing_ , though. It was for the sake of an elf they'd severely abused." 

"Ah, I see," Luna says. "I didn't think you were the sort who would kill for his own sake. That makes sense." 

"Well, thank you for your faith in me, then," I say. 

When we arrive back at Hogsmeade Station and file out of the train, I hear people murmuring around us. Did something happen, I wonder? 

"It's true!" says one older Hufflepuff girl. 

"But they're so young!" 

"They were locked in their compartment the whole way here!" 

"It must be true love!" 

What are they talking about? 

Percy Weasley approaches us, a stern look on his face. "Harry. Luna," he says. "I must warn you against so obviously displaying your affection at your age." 

"Wait, what?" I say, blinking at him. 

"You were locked in a compartment alone with her the entire trip," Percy says. "And my brothers said--" 

"Wait, Fred and George you mean?" I say. 

"Yes--" 

"You _believed_ something the twins said?" I say incredulously. 

Percy sighs. "The entire school did." 

Another Hufflepuff girl giggles and says to her friends, "I think they look cute together." 

I bury my face in my palms. "This is going to be a long term." 

* * *

A week after returning to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall intercepts me in the common room before breakfast. "The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office immediately," she tells me. 

I don't even need to ask what this is probably about, and the thought fills me with dread. I keep my face carefully neutral as I follow her off to Dumbledore's office. 

"Ah, you're here, good," Dumbledore says. "Minerva, leave us, please." 

I wait quietly for Professor McGonagall to leave the office before speaking. "Did someone die, Headmaster?" 

"I'm afraid so, Stormseeker," Dumbledore says. "Mr. Filch found the body of young Colin Creevey this morning, without a mark on him. Out of bed when he should not have been, and we still have no idea who might have done this." 

I start to feel ill. "About what time did he die at?" 

"Perhaps three o'clock in the morning," Dumbledore says. 

"Shit," I mutter. 

"I would normally admonish you for such language," Dumbledore says. "But under the circumstances, I will let it slide as being understandable." 

"I can't save him," I murmur. "I was still asleep... I can't save him." 

"I'm sorry, Lexen," Dumbledore says gently. "I had hoped that there might yet be something you could do. But perhaps you can still help us catch whoever murdered this poor boy." 

I'm trembling. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe. I'm sorry, Headmaster. I'd like some time alone." I turn for the door. "I'll-- I'll let you know if I find out anything." 

I leave the Headmaster's office and wander off. I'm certainly not going to the Great Hall for breakfast right now. I find myself back in Moaning Myrtle's restroom. There's nothing in my stomach to puke up though, which is probably just as well. I go over to the sink and wash my face. 

"Oh, the boy is back," Myrtle says, the ghost appearing in the mirror behind me. 

"Hello, Myrtle," I say in a choked voice. I almost feel like crying, but no tears come. 

"You're not going to start puking again, are you?" Myrtle asks. 

"I haven't even eaten breakfast yet," I mutter. "Nothing to puke up." 

"Just as well," Myrtle says. "Sometimes I'm glad I'm a ghost. I don't have to deal with disgusting things like that anymore!" 

"Myrtle, you hang out in a toilet," I point out. "Voluntarily, even." 

"Hmph," Myrtle says. 

"Myrtle," I say, sighing a little and staring into the mirror. "I don't suppose you saw anything interesting happen last night?" 

"I'm afraid not," Myrtle says. "I was being lonely in the bend of my toilet. Why, did something happen?" 

"A boy died last night," I say quietly. "A first year Gryffindor. A Muggleborn. His name was Colin Creevey." 

"Oh..." Myrtle says, her expression softening a bit. 

It's fortunate that Filch found him rather than a student. We might be able to avoid a panic at this rate. But wouldn't a panic be justified? _Shouldn't_ these poor children be running in terror at this? They are all in danger. And I can't protect them as well as I might have hoped. 

"I think he died the same way you did," I add. 

"He died suddenly while crying in the loo?" Myrtle asks dubiously. 

I shake my head. "No, I mean, the same thing killed him. A basilisk..." 

"You think I was killed by a basilisk?" Myrtle says. 

"I'm sure of it," I say. "There's a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. That's what Salazar Slytherin's monster is." And seeing as I've already seen it and been killed by it several times, I don't think there's really any question of what it is anymore. 

"Oh..." Myrtle repeats dumbly. "Do you suppose this Colin became a ghost, too?" 

"I don't know," I say, sighing. "Go find out, if you really want to know. I probably ought to get to breakfast. I doubt I can hold any food down at the moment, but..." 

"Why do you get so sick when _other_ people die?" Myrtle says. "It's not like it was happening to _you_." 

"I just feel like I should have been able to do something to stop it," I reply softly. 

"Hmph!" Myrtle says. "That's awfully arrogant of you. You think that just because _you_ couldn't do something, that it must have been impossible? You think it's up to _you_ to do everything yourself? You give yourself too much credit, boy." 

"You... have a point," I admit. 

"Now go eat," Myrtle admonishes me. "And don't you dare come slinking back here to puke it up again, either!" 

"Alright," I say, heading out of the restroom. 

There's no use moping about it. Poor Colin is already dead and out of my reach. There's nothing I can do for him now, except to try to find the person who murdered him. 

Murder. I wonder if Luna might be able to help? Well, he was probably killed by the basilisk, and so wasn't murdered directly. But she was still able to see things around me even though I used Rispy as my murder weapon. It's certainly worth a shot. 

I make my way to the Great Hall. Breakfast has already started, and Luna is seated at the Ravenclaw table, starting to eat quietly. There's some space around her, so I head over to take a seat next to her. 

An older girl across the table says, "Hey, aren't you in Gryffindor?" 

Another girl replies, "Oh, give him a break. He just wants to sit with his girlfriend." 

Maybe I should have just waited until after breakfast. No help for it now. I give a bit of a glare at the older girls and say, "Morning, Luna." 

"Hello, Stormseeker," Luna says distantly. 

"Care to help me hunt grackles today?" I ask. 

"Certainly," Luna replies. 

"Ooh, they're going on a date!" squees a nearby girl. "How adorable!" 

I clench my teeth and determinedly ignore them as I set in to eat some breakfast. Myrtle's words did help to ease my stomach, I think. I'm going to make a wreck of myself if I am to personally blame myself for every bad thing that happens around me. 

"Pay them no mind, Stormseeker," Luna says absently. "They're just infested by wrackspurts." 

"She even has a weird pet name for him!" says one of the gossiping girls. 

I quietly roll my eyes and eat up. Once I'm done eating, I say, "I need to get to class now, Luna. Let me know if you see any grackles!" 

"I'll do that," Luna says. "I'll keep a close eye out for them." 

The first class I have today is Transfiguration. When I arrive at class, Ron looks to me incredulously and says, "You were eating breakfast with _Loony_? You totally do have a crush on her." 

I groan softly. "Oh, come on, not you too." 

"You're not really doing much to discourage the rumor," Neville points out. 

I put my face in my palms. "You know what?" I say. "I just don't even care." I have bigger things to worry about than the Hogwarts rumor mill, and if people think we're 'together', at least they won't be wondering at the _real_ reason we might be spending time with one another. 

At lunch, I decide to just sit at the Gryffindor table and eat my lunch. Luna, however, decides to come over to sit next to me this time. "Hello, Stormseeker," she says. "Will your House be terribly upset if I eat lunch with you today?" 

Ron makes a face. "Ugh, do what you want," he says. "You two are disgusting." 

"Why don't we hurry up and eat and go somewhere more quiet?" I say dryly. 

Everyone nearby is staring at me, and I have to sigh and roll my eyes, realizing how bad that sounds. It's not as though I _like_ her or anything. I mean, _like her_ like her. Nope, I'm not even going to pay attention to whatever they might be saying or thinking. I just eat my lunch. Once we've got something in our stomachs, I drag Luna off to an empty classroom. 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus_ ," I mutter, waving my wand. "Ugh, why do I get the feeling that once I get some more experience under my belt, I'm going to wind up casting thirty spells before I ever talk about anything important?" 

"Because you will," Luna replies. 

I smirk. "Right, thought so. So have you seen any grackles today?" 

"I haven't seen any black ones, except for the ones around you, of course," Luna says. "Nor even any new yellow or red ones, for that matter. There's a fair number of green ones around, but that isn't unusual." 

"What does that mean?" I ask. 

"All kinds of grackle are attracted to death," Luna explains. "The different colors are drawn to different sorts of death, however. Black ones, as I mentioned, seek out murderers and feed upon the negative energies generated by ending the life of a helpless victim." 

I wince a little at the way she describes it. "Go on." 

"Red grackles go for violent deaths, such as in war or duels," Luna says. "The sorts of death where you meant to kill someone, but they were facing off with you in combat, dying fighting. Yellow grackles are a mark of unintentional, accidental death. Those are the deaths that, while you are responsible for the circumstances leading up to them, you did not mean to cause at all. There are yellow grackles around Professor Lockhart, but they've been there all year." 

"I see," I say, somehow not surprised at the idea of Lockhart having accidentally killed someone. "And the green ones?" 

"Green grackles are different," Luna says. "They aren't attracted to human death at all. Rather, they are drawn to people who kill animals. There's a lot of people in Hogwarts who have killed animals recently. Hagrid, Snape, Lockhart, McGonagall, Draco, Ginny, Ron, and so forth. It could be something as simple as stepping on a spider, dissecting potion ingredients, butchering tonight's dinner, or making a mistake with Transfiguration." 

"Right, that's not really helpful at all," I say. 

"Stormseeker," Luna says quietly. "Who died last night? It was Colin Creevey, wasn't it? I didn't see him in class today..." 

I give a small nod. "I just wish I could have saved him," I say softly. "I've got to find the Heir of Slytherin. Preferably before anyone else has to die!" 

"I didn't know that the Dark Lord had children," Luna says, cocking her head absently at me. 

I sigh a little. "Are you absolutely certain that there aren't any possessed people or Parselmouths in the school?" 

Luna gives a nod. "I would have noticed," she says. "Possessed people have a double aura, after all, and that's pretty distinctive. And Parselmouths have nafs in their ears and mouth." 

"Should I even ask how you know all this?" I wonder. "Have you ever seen a Parselmouth before?" 

"I've seen pictures of the Dark Lord, and Salazar Slytherin," Luna says. "The nafs show there, too." 

I blink at her. "So even _paintings_ of them would be Parselmouths?" 

Luna looks at me normally. "Why wouldn't they be?" 

"And I suppose there aren't many people who can see things like grackles, or everyone would be clamoring to have one at every murder trial," I comment. 

"Most people don't believe they even exist," Luna says. "You're the first person I've met who isn't directly related to me who actually listens to me." 

"You aren't appreciated nearly as much as you should be, Luna," I say. 

"It's kind of you to say so, Stormseeker," Luna says, giving a small smile. 

I slump down in a chair. "I'm out of ideas," I say, sighing. "Do _you_ have any ideas on how we might be able to find the Heir of Slytherin?" 

Luna looks thoughtfully distant for several moments. "I'm afraid not," Luna says. "If I haven't seen any new black, red, or yellow grackles, then the only one that could have killed Colin is someone I haven't seen." 

"Which means it's not likely to be any of the students or staff," I say. 

"It's possible that I simply haven't seen the person today," Luna says. "Although I can say for certain that it couldn't be anyone in my year. I can't keep track of all of the older students, however. If it's an older student, they might simply be avoiding coming to meals." 

I nod. "Alright. Well. Continue keeping an eye out for me, please. I should go talk to Dumbledore before my next class." 

I cancel the my spells, and head up to the Headmaster's office. Considering the fact that he has a password on his door, I think I must be the only student who can go to see Dumbledore whenever I want, and demand that he listen to me. That strikes me as a little sad, now that I think on it. 

"Ah, Stormseeker, you're back," Dumbledore says. "Have you learned anything?" 

"I've learned that nobody who went to breakfast or lunch today could be the culprit," I reply. "Headmaster, are there paintings of the Founders in the school? Specifically, of Salazar Slytherin?" 

"There are," Dumbledore says. "Although not in a part there is generally accessible. Come this way." 

The Headmaster's tower is much larger than one might expect it to be. I hadn't even seen the half of it during my stay here in my first summer in this world. Dumbledore takes me off into a room I haven't seen before. The Founders' Room, it's labeled. There are paintings of the four Founders here, sleeping in their ornate, ancient frames. 

"Salazar Slytherin, awaken," Dumbledore commands. "This student would speak with you." 

One of the paintings comes to life, and blinks at Dumbledore and me. "Who is this?" 

"This is--" Dumbledore begins. 

"Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer, the Stormseeker, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood," I put in. 

"Hmh," Slytherin says. "I do not recognize your house, boy, but your pride in your name is admirable. Are you a pureblood, child?" 

"I am, sir," I reply. 

"Well enough," Slytherin says. "So, why did you wish to see me, Chelseer?" 

"Where is the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask. 

Slytherin snorts in laughter. "Why should I tell _you_ that? You are not one of my descendants, are you?" He hisses something unintelligible to me. 

"No, I am not," I reply. "However, your heir, or someone claiming to be such, has opened it and unleashed your basilisk upon the school." 

"Good, I say!" Slytherin says. "Let them drive away those who are unworthy to study magic!" 

"Right, why did I even think for half a moment that this could possibly help in any way, shape, or form?" I comment dryly. "Slytherin, sir, perhaps you haven't thought this through. There are two likely outcomes from this. One is that the school will be shut down entirely. Two is that someone will kill your precious basilisk. Also, it is entirely likely that, with such a dangerous creature slithering around, purebloods might inadvertently die in the process as well. Is that what you really want?" 

"Even if I could tell you where the Chamber of Secret lies, I would not do so," Slytherin says. "And even if you were to find its entrance, you would not be able to enter regardless!" 

"Because I'm not a Parselmouth, right?" I say. "Let me ask you something, then. Why has the Chamber of Secrets been opened, when there are no Parselmouths at the school?" 

"Are you entirely certain of that?" Slytherin says. "Perhaps they simply have not told _you_ of it." 

"I'm quite certain," I say. 

"There must be one around somewhere," Slytherin says. "Perhaps you simply haven't seen them yet. No one can possibly gain access to the Chamber of Secrets unless they can speak Parseltongue." 

"Could someone have possibly _learned_ Parseltongue?" I say, frowning a little. 

"What?" Slytherin says. "A clever imposter, impersonating my own heir? It's conceivable, I suppose. If that is the case, I hope you do whatever you must in order to stop this fraud. I will not tolerate this sort of stain upon my house." 

I nod. "I will do so, sir. Thank you." 

There's one person whose face springs to mind when I think of the word 'fraud'. And one that just might be stupid enough to be involved in this in some way. And furthermore, one that already has the mark of someone who has accidentally killed people. 

_Lockhart_.


	21. Conspiracies

I can hardly get through my afternoon classes without my mind drifting onto the possibilities. The logical part of my brain argues that if Lockhart really were pretending to be the Heir of Slytherin, he wouldn't be able to shut the fuck up about it. But what if he's just doing it to gain access to the Chamber of Secrets, and then got in over his head with the whole basilisk thing? I don't know. None of this makes any damned _sense_. 

"Potter, it would behoove you to pay attention to your potion," Snape says, hovering over me watchfully. 

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," I say. 

I'm rubbish enough with Potions when actively trying to do my best. I don't need to be doing even worse because I wasn't paying attention. Focus on what I'm doing for now. I can investigate Lockhart further later. 

Once I get out of afternoon classes, before dinner starts up, I head over to Lockhart's office. I'm going to question him, and I'm not going to leave until I have answers. A boy is dead, and if this fool is responsible, there _will_ be a reckoning. 

But before I knock on the door, I center myself. Focus. Be calm and in control. He must only know what I let him know. Put on a mask, and let him see only that. 

I knock on the door. Lockhart opens it, and says, "Ah, my dear Harry! Come on in. Looking for advice on how to deal with unfortunate rumors?" 

Oh, he thinks it's about that? Whatever. I come inside, shaking my head. "I'd like to speak with you privately. Do you mind if I cast a couple charms to make sure there's no eavesdroppers or anything?" 

"Of course, my boy, go right ahead, whatever makes you comfortable," Lockhart says. 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus,_ " I murmur, waving my wand. "Alright, that'll have to do." 

"Your concern about eavesdropping is quite understandable given the current rumors, of course," Lockhart says. 

"I really don't care about the rumors," I say. 

"Ah, but you should!" Lockhart says. "Rumors can make or break your celebrity image, and you are much too young to be thought of in such a manner." 

Be patient. Stay calm. "So, what would you suggest, then?" I ask. 

"You have to be careful, of course," Lockhart says. "If you are to vehemently deny any relationship between yourself and Miss Lovegood, it may come off too strongly as disliking her, and may be offensive toward her family. She's a pureblood, after all, and they can be quite touchy at times." 

I rather have to doubt that any family that has Luna as a member is anything I would call 'touchy' or 'easily offended'. "I'm not interested in rejecting Luna," I reply. 

"Among purebloods, betrothal contracts among people as young or younger than you used to be common," Lockhart says. "But in this day and age, I would not recommend that course of action. You're young yet, how are you to know who you want to spend the rest of your life with at this point?" 

All of this obsession with whether or not me and Luna are dating just makes me want to scream at everyone. Children are dying here, and you all are worried about boys and girls hanging around with one another? It's incredible. But of course, they don't realize what's really going on. They don't understand yet that they're in danger. I don't even know whether Dumbledore is planning to announce Colin's death or sweep it under the carpet. I don't even know which would be better. 

"I'm sure you get a dozen marriage proposals per week," I comment to Lockhart. 

"Something like that," Lockhart says. "And, of course, I must send them all polite letters declining their proposals. It's quite tragic, really." 

"Professor Lockhart," I begin, "why did you decide to take a teaching position at Hogwarts, anyway?" 

"What better way to share my expertise with people?" Lockhart replies. 

"By writing books," I say dryly. 

"Well, yes, there's that," Lockhart says. "But that doesn't really allow for answering questiosn or giving demonstrations." 

"All of your demonstrations lead to you hiding under your desk or dropping your wand," I say. He really has no good reason to be at Hogwarts, unless he's up to something sinister somehow. The only thing he could possibly accomplish here is exposing himself as a fraud by giving too much scrutiny to his actual ability. 

"Ah, well, I was nervous..." Lockhart stammers. "I've never taught before, you see..." 

He's trying to justify himself to me? I think he's already lost this argument. "You're inept and you're a fraud. At this point, that isn't even in question. I want to know what you're really doing in Hogwarts." I point my wand at him. 

"What are you doing?" Lockhart says. "Threatening a teacher? My dear Harry, one might think that you're looking for trouble--" 

"Dumbledore will back me up," I say firmly. "Now answer the question." 

" _Obliv--_ " 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " His wand was barely in his hand before I started to cast. Lockhart tries to reach for his fallen wand. " _Flipendo!_ " Lockhart flies end over end and tumbles over the top of his desk. I reach over and grab his wand myself. 

"Harry, this is going to get you detention, or worse," Lockhart says. 

"No it's not," I say, pointing both wands at him. "Now, for starters, what spell were you trying to cast on me?" 

"What?" 

"It started with an 'Obliv'," I say. "I don't know any spells that start with those syllables, but I'm sure I could look it up. Or, you know, just ask Dumbledore. So perhaps it would be in your best interest to answer my question." 

"Harry, you can't do this--" Lockhart says, looking around his desk. 

"Keep your hands where I can see them," I say. "The minute I see you trying to reach for something, I'm hexing you." 

"I don't believe this!" Lockhart exclaims, straightening and holding his hands in the air. "What's gotten into you, Harry?" 

"I don't believe this, either," I say. "A twelve year old boy easily taking down the Defense professor. Now, how about you start answering my questions? If you're feeling reluctant, I could always take you to Professor Snape. I'm sure he's got something brewed up that could encourage you to talk." 

"You're threatening me with Veratiserum now?" Lockhart says, wide-eyed. "Severus would never go along with this!" 

"Why don't we find out?" I say. 

"N--No, that won't be necessary," Lockhart says. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know." 

"What, don't want anyone else to find out about this?" I say. "One second-year student is easier to deal with than having your secrets spilled before Snape?" I smirk at him. "Alright, answer my questions, but if I'm not satisfied, or I think you're lying, or you even dare to try to pull anything, I'm going to hex the shit out of you and drag you down to the dungeons." 

"Alright, alright!" Lockhart says. "What do you want to know?" 

"First off, tell me, what spell were you trying to cast on me?" I ask. 

Lockhart sighs reluctantly. "Obliviate," he replies. "The Memory Charm. I'm quite good at them, you see... I was trying to wipe your memory of this encounter." 

I narrow my eyes at him. "You would _dare_ to fuck with my memory?" 

"You have quite the mouth on you, little boy," Lockhart says. 

"Yeah, fuck you too," I snap. "Take points from me, give me detention, maim me, _kill me_ , but do _not_ touch my memory." I snort softly. "Although that would explain all those books of yours. You just Obliviated the ones who actually did those deeds and took the credit for yourself, didn't you?" 

"I was doing them a favor," Lockhart insists. "They didn't want the fame or attention. All they wanted to do was to help people." 

"I really don't care about your excuses right now," I say. "That's not why I'm here. I want to know what you're doing in Hogwarts." 

"I'm teaching!" Lockhart says. "I thought it would be a good opportunity to put myself in the spotlight, and improve my credentials. And if I were fondly remembered by ones such as you in the future, so much the better." 

I glare at him. "What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?" I demand. 

"What are you talking about?" Lockhart says, looking at me in puzzlement. "That's just a legend, so far as anyone knows. Although I'm sure that I could acquire even greater fame and fortune if I were the one to finally discover it." 

His confusion seems genuine, but it could be just an act, trying to cover things up and keep me from discovering the truth. "Did you come here looking for the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask. 

"No," Lockhart replies. "I wouldn't complain if I happened to come across it, but that's not why I'm here. I swear, it's the truth." 

"Uh-huh," I say. "Do you know Parseltongue?" 

"No!" Lockhart says. 

" _Do you know who killed Colin Creevey?_ " I demand. 

"No!" Lockhart replies. "No, no, no!" 

"What do you think of Muggleborns?" I ask. 

"I _am_ a Muggleborn!" Lockhart exclaims. 

I stare at him for several moments. "Very well," I say. "I believe that you are telling the truth." 

"Will you give me back my wand now?" Lockhart asks. 

"Fine," I say, reluctantly handing it over. 

The minute he has it back in his hand, he starts to say, " _Obliv--_ " 

" _Flipendo_ ," I snap. " _Expelliarmus_." Lockhart flies end over end again, and before he has a chance to recover, his wand comes flying back toward me. "I think I'd better just keep your damned wand." 

"You can't do that!" Lockhart exclaims. 

"Then quit trying to Obliviate me, idiot," I say. "The Heir of Slytherin is loose in the school, has opened the Chamber of Secrets, and unleashed Slytherin's basilisk upon the students! A Muggleborn first-year died last night! Dumbledore himself requested my aid in unraveling this mystery! And if you weren't the culprit, and you're not on the Dark Lord's side, then for fuck's sake, _help me_ instead of acting like a complete buffoon." 

"But..." Lockhart begins. 

" _I don't care_ if you're a completely inept wizard who is only good at erasing people's memories and taking credit for their deeds." I shake my head. "I'll certainly know from now on who to ask if I ever need someone's memory modified for whatever reason." 

"You aren't going to expose me?" Lockhart says. "Tell Dumbledore about it and get me fired, and have it plastered all over the _Daily Prophet_?" 

"Of course not," I say. "Besides, Dumbledore isn't likely to fire you for anything short of murder, anyway. I mean, for fuck's sake, last year's Defense professor was _possessed by the fucking Dark Lord!_ " 

"You do need to work on your language, though," Lockhart says quietly, as if afraid to protest much more loudly than that. 

I smirk at him. "So, what will it be, Lockhart?" I ask. "Ally or enemy?" 

"I would much rather be your ally, Harry Potter," Lockhart murmurs. 

"Very well," I say. I reluctantly hand his wand back, but I keep my own trained on him and a spell on my lips if he tries to Obliviate me again. 

"I won't try anything, I swear," Lockhart says. 

"I want an oath from you," I say. 

"An Unbreakable Vow?" Lockhart says, raising an eyebrow. 

"No," I reply. "An oath of fealty." 

"Are you serious?" Lockhart says, staring at me. 

"Would I have asked if I weren't?" I snap. "Children are _dying_ here, and there are _three people_ in this whole castle who I know I can fully trust! And right now I'd be happy with one more person who I can _mostly_ trust!" 

"Why are _you_ the one trying to stop this?" Lockhart says. "You might be the Boy-Who-Lived and all, but you're still only twelve years old..." 

"I'll explain it to you if I have your oath," I say. "But believe me, there are reasons, and there's a reason why even Dumbledore is having to rely on me in this." 

"You're not asking for any small thing, though," Lockhart says. "You're asking me to swear loyalty to House Potter for myself and any descendants that I might have!" 

"You're not even married," I point out. "And no, I won't ask you for that. I want you to swear loyalty to _me personally_ for _you only_. And not by the name of Harry Potter. Swear your loyalty to the Stormseeker." 

"That's... a bit of a strange request," Lockhart says. 

"I don't really care," I say. "I'm at my wit's end here." My wand is shaking. Am I really this desparate for allies? 

"You already know my secret," Lockhart says. 

"And don't even think about Obliviating me," I warn him. 

"I never considered that someone might be willing to keep my secret and value what talents I have for what they're worth," Lockhart says. 

"Not everyone can be good at everything," I say. "A variety of talents is needed for success of any group. You want fame and fortune? Fine, have at it. You can even take credit for whatever I might do if you want, I really don't care, just so long as you don't Obliviate me to do it." 

Lockhart thinks about this for a few moments, before nodding his head. "Very well. So be it." He kneels before me, still a little uneasily. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, do hereby swear an oath of loyalty upon my life and my magic to you, Stormseeker. I swear to serve, protect, and obey you in any way that is within my power." 

At least he just used his name only, and didn't babble on about his Order of Merlin or Witch Weekly's best smile contest. I nod solemnly to him, and say, "I, the Stormseeker, do hereby accept your oath, Gilderoy Lockhart." 

The tip of my wand sparkles brightly for several moments, and Lockhart is surrounded by a faintly glowing aura that seems to sink in and vanish. Did that invoke some actual magic somehow? I don't really know what I've just done, but I find it a little reassuring. I feel like I can relax a little now. I put my wand away and flop over into a chair, and let out a heavy breath shakily. 

Lockhart straightens and stands, looking down at me, and says, "Now, would you please tell me why you wished me to do that... Stormseeker?" 

"I didn't know if I could trust you," I reply. "And I swear, if I _ever_ , under any circumstances, find that you've Obliviated me, I _will_ kill you." I shake my head. "But never mind that. I was so sure I'd finally figured out who had opened the Chamber of Secrets, and now I'm back at the drawing board again. _Damn it_." 

"If I might ask," Lockhart says. "Why did you ask me to swear to the Stormseeker rather than to Harry Potter?" 

"Because I'm not Harry Potter," I say, laughing softly. "How could I possibly be angry at you for being a fraud when I've pulled something even worse?" It's pretty hilarious, actually. For once, I allow myself to relax and let out all my pent up tension in laughter. 

"You... seriously?" Lockhart says, looking at me in disbelief. 

I nod. "My name is Lexen Chelseer," I explain in between snickers. "Stormseeker is my title. Harry Potter's been dead for years. The only ones who know everything about it are Dumbledore and Snape, so be sure not to let it slip to anyone else." 

"Yes, Stormseeker," Lockhart says, starting to laugh himself. "That's... pretty incredible, actually. And I thought _I'd_ done well with my schemes, but this? This really takes the cake!" 

The two of us share a laugh about it for several minutes. Finally, I catch my breath, and say, "Fuck, I needed that." 

Lockhart wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, and takes a seat across from me. "So, who are you really? Are you actually twelve years old, or older than that and just pretending at that, too? Considering your language..." 

"Actually... I'm eleven," I say, snickering softly. "Sorry about the cussing. I think that's more just a sign of the tension getting to me." 

"You're _younger_ than Harry Potter would have been?" Lockhart asks, eyes widening. "You're doing quite well in your classes for all that." 

I nod. "Yeah, I'm actually about eight months younger than Harry Potter. Close enough to pass, but by all rights, I should be a first year." 

"And yet you could still defeat me in a duel," Lockhart says a little dejectedly. 

"Eh, don't feel so bad," I say. "I've seriously pushed myself in combat magic. I'm hopeless in other things like Potions. Just ask Snape." I snort softly. "And if you want to know why... that's a seriously long story, and it's almost dinner. We should continue this conversation afterward, though." 

"I can just have a house-elf bring us dinner here," Lockhart suggests. 

I shake my head. "I don't want to be seen missing dinner, and I really should meet with my informant and see if she's learned anything else. Yes, that's Luna Lovegood. Not my girlfriend, but a valuable source of information. That's why I don't really care about the rumors. If people think we're dating, they won't wonder why we're really spending time around one another." 

"Ah, I see," Lockhart says. 

"But straight back here after dinner," I say. "There's a lot that you need to know." 

Lockhart nods, and I cancel my spells, and the two of us head down to the Great Hall for dinner. There's Luna at the Ravenclaw table. I go over to her. 

"Oh, it's the Gryffindor boy again," says an older Ravenclaw girl. 

"You're not sitting at our table for dinner!" protests an older boy. 

I snort softly. "Whatever," I reply. 

Someone from the Hufflepuff table waves over to us and says, "You're welcome to sit with us if you like!" 

"Really?" Luna says. "I haven't sat at the Hufflepuff table before. There's fewer nargles over here, too." 

So the two of us wind up eating dinner at the Hufflepuff table, of all places. "So, Luna, have you seen anymore grackles?" I ask. 

Luna shakes her head. "I'm afraid not, Stormseeker," she replies. 

A first year girl giggles. "You two are weird, but that's okay," she says. 

"You Hufflepuffs are much friendlier than the Ravenclaws," Luna comments. "Perhaps I should have been in Hufflepuff." 

"Well, if they ever give you a hard time, you're always welcome to sit with _us_ instead," says an older girl, a prefect. 

"Thanks," Luna says. 

"What's this?" says Draco, strolling by the table. "Potter and his Loony girlfriend, sitting with the Puffs?" 

"That's right," I say absently. 

"How much lower can you go?" Draco says. 

"How far down do the dungeons go?" I ask. 

"Leave them alone, Malfoy," says the prefect. "Go back to your own table if you can't say anything nice." 

We eat dinner fairly peacefully, and I say, "I've got to go talk to Professor Lockhart after dinner. Care to join me, Luna?" 

"Of course, Stormseeker," Luna replies. 

The two of us head back to Lockhart's office. He ate quickly and quietly and slipped away from the Great Hall ahead of us. When we arrive, he lets us in and I recast my spells. 

"Alright," I say. "Now that we've eaten something, I suppose I'd best tell you everything." 

"Do you trust him?" Luna asks me. 

I give a short nod. "If he lies to me, I will kill him," I say in a deadly serious tone. 

Luna nods sagely, then turns to Lockhart and says, "You shouldn't lie to him. If you do, he will kill you." 

"Why do I feel such a sense of dread over eleven year olds making death threats?" Lockhart comments. 

"The Stormseeker is a murderer," Luna says brightly. 

Lockhart stares at us for a moment, and then says, "For the sake of my own sanity, I'm going to assume that you're talking about You-Know-Who or something..." 

"If you're so disturbed by the idea of me killing someone, maybe I shouldn't tell you the rest," I smirk. 

"No, no," Lockhart says. "I'd really like to hear this. Do go on." 

"Very well, Lockhart," I say. "Welcome to... the Stormseeker Conspiracy. We few hold a great secret that could change the course of the universe." 

"That sounds... ominous," Lockhart says. 

"Well, someone has to oppose the Rotfang Conspiracy," Luna says lightly. 

"You see, I'm from another universe," I say. "I'm a time traveler. And I'm effectively immortal." 

"You... what?" Lockhart says, blinking. Whatever he might have been expecting, that clearly wasn't it. 

"Whenever I die, I wake up again that morning as if nothing happened," I say. "Giving me a chance to do something differently with advance knowledge of the future. All I can take back are my own memories, however. Now you see why I was so upset about the idea of being Obliviated?" 

"Ah, yes," Lockhart says. "My apologies. And I can see why you're so cautious about something like this..." 

I nod. "Now you understand," I say. "And you see why I'd go to any lengths to make sure someone like you is on _my_ side and in no danger of ever thinking that it might be a good idea to Obliviate me. I just can't take any chances with something like that." 

"I understand," Lockhart says, nodding. 

"So, with that out in the open, let's get back to the heart of the matter," I say. "Colin Creevey was killed last night. Unfortunately, he died before I woke up, so I can't go back far enough to save him. I was able to save Justin Finch-Fletchley last November because he was attacked all of approximately twelve minutes after I woke up -- that was a close one. The Heir of Slytherin seems to be targeting Muggleborns." 

"I see," Lockhart says, frowning. "I wish there were more I could do to help." 

I smirk. "Especially considering that I'll happily let you take all the credit for catching the culprit." 

"Yes, there is that as well," Lockhart says with a small grin. 

"Unfortunately, all my ideas have dead-ended," I say. "Luna says there's no Parselmouths in the school, no one is possessed, and no one seems to have committed a murder. Luna, is there anything else we might look for that you haven't mentioned or I haven't thought of yet?" 

"Hmm," Luna says. "Whoever is responsible would have to be someone that I haven't seen recently." 

"And unless there's more than one invisibility cloak in the school, that wasn't it either," I say. "Are there any spells or anything that make someone invisible?" 

"A Disillusionment Charm?" Lockhart suggests. 

"I'd be able to see through them if they came near, though," Luna says. 

"I think, if you saw them, you'd be able to identify them immediately, anyway," I say. "So most likely, the culprit only comes out when you're asleep in your dorm. Both attacks happened at night or early in the morning." 

"Ah, of course!" Lockhart says. "It's obvious! There must be a vampire sneaking around Hogwarts at night!"


	22. Valentines

Thoughts of vampires and the Rotfang Conspiracy filling my head, I go to see Dumbledore next. 

"Perhaps it's best if you impose a strict curfew from now on," I suggest. "Lock us all in our house areas at night if need be. It's just not safe to be wandering around at night, even less than usual right now." 

"I kept the news of Colin's death quiet today, but I do not believe I should do so any longer," Dumbledore says heavily, sighing. 

"You hoped that I would still somehow find a way to save him, didn't you," I say quietly. 

"Would that you could," Dumbledore says. "And to think I was the one who lectured you about not being able to save everyone." 

"I understand," I say quietly. "And I apologize, that perhaps I was a bit harsh on you for it." 

Dumbledore shakes his head. "No, perhaps it was I who was a bit harsh on you, instead. But your suggestion is a good one. Although we already have a curfew and students _shouldn't_ be wandering around at night, it is not perhaps enforced as strictly as it could be." 

"I just hope that measures like this might be able to keep the everyone safe," I say. "If nothing else, maybe they'd be attacked while I'm awake instead." 

"They will threaten to close the school if we cannot catch the culprit," Dumbledore says. "Even as they did fifty years ago." 

"When Myrtle was killed," I say, nodding. "Well, we can hardly keep Colin's death a secret forever, but they don't need to know _how_ he died. If _that_ got out, I can't imagine _anyone_ wanting to stay or keep their children in Hogwarts." 

"Yes, I agree," Dumbledore says. "The basilisk must be kept quiet. Very well, we will try your suggestion. Best run along to bed, now. It's getting close to curfew as it is." 

* * *

The next month passes without further incident, and I start to dare to hope that these measures might be able to keep the students safe. February comes around, and a holiday called Valentine's Day. We didn't do anything with it last year, but Lockhart apparently wants to do something this year. 

"Do you think it's entirely appropriate to be planning this sort of event, so soon after a child has died?" I ask him. 

"It will be good for people," Lockhart says. "Give them a chance to relax and let off some tension." 

"As you say," I reply dubiously. 

Come the day of the event, the Great Hall is decorated in shades of pink, white, and red, with flowers and hearts adorning the place, and heart-shaped confetti falling from the ceiling. I do hope that none of it gets in my food. Up at the staff table, Lockhart is impossible to miss in his vivid pink robes. After hearing Lockhart's suggestion of asking Snape for Love Potions, I have to wonder if I'm going to wind up having to commit suicide to convince Lockhart that this was all a terrible idea and should be called off at the last minute, or at least toned down. 

A dozen dwarves wearing fake wings and carrying harps parades into the Great Hall, looking none too pleased at their role. I wonder how Lockhart managed to convince them to play this part. 

I turn to look back at my breakfast, and see that a layer of confetti has begun to blanket it. Ugh, that's disgusting. As I'm trying to pick it off, I don't notice Lockhart coming up behind me. 

"So, Harry, how do you like the event?" he asks. 

"You should have made the confetti avoid falling on the tables or something," I reply. 

"Ah, my apologies," Lockhart says. "Let's see if I can do something about that." 

He pulls out his wand and casts a spell, and the confetti lifts itself off from the table. Some of it goes up my nose, and I sneeze involuntarily. 

"Alright there, Harry?" Lockhart says. "Here, let me help you with that." 

Another spell, and I find myself choking. I can't breathe! What in the Abyss is Lockhart trying to do to me? Well, I'm sure he wouldn't hurt me intentionally, he swore an oath of loyalty to me after all, but he _is_ the sort of person who could and has accidentally killed people. I can't even breathe to tell him to cancel whatever he's doing or to cancel it myself. I won't learn about nonverbal magic for years yet. 

"All better, Harry?" Lockhart says. 

Ron's eyes widen, looking at me. "He's turning blue!" 

"Ah?" Lockhart says, looking at me dumbly. "Oops." 

At that point, I lose consciousness. 

* * *

I wake. I'm in my dorm room rather than the hospital wing, and it appears to be before breakfast still, so it would appear that Lockhart managed to kill me. Alright, I think I'm going to need to give him a bit of a lecture this morning. I get dressed and head straight for his office. 

"My dear Harry!" Lockhart says upon opening the door. "What can I do for you this morning?" 

I step inside, close the door, and mutter, " _Muffliato. Colloportus._ " Then I turn to look at him pointedly. "Lockhart. Do not cast any spell on me that I do not specifically request, even if you think I might want it." 

"Ah?" Lockhart says, raising an eyebrow. "My apologies, then." 

"That's a warning," I say. "If you kill me again, I _will_... be quite annoyed and do something unpleasant to you." 

"Er, sorry, sorry," Lockhart says, stammering a little. "What did I do?" 

"I don't know what you cast, but I wound up _suffocating_ ," I say. I sigh, and rub my temples. "Alright. You're planning to have confetti fall from the ceiling of the Great Hall, yes? Please make certain that it does not get in the food. Ask Flitwick for help with the charm if you need to." 

"I'd best see to that right away, then," Lockhart says dejectedly. 

I remove my spells, and head out to the Great Hall. I really don't care if he wants to have his silly little event, so long as he doesn't wind up, you know, _killing me_ in the process. 

Breakfast goes a bit better this time, without choking to death or even getting heart-shaped confetti in my food. The dwarves then proceed to publicly humiliate half the school by delivering singing valentines to them, even during classes. I have to wonder just how Lockhart managed to convince the other teachers to agree to this. 

One of the dwarves intercepts me in the hallway after Charms class. "Excuse me. Harry Potter? I've got a valentine for you." 

"Sure, let's have it, then," I say, smirking a little and ignoring the crowd. This ought to be good for a laugh at least. 

The dwarf proceeds to sing something truly horrendous involving comparing my eyes to the color of pickled toad. He can't even make it past the first line before I'm practically doubled over in laughter. Nobody could have seriously sent me a valentine like that! I'm guessing that Draco Malfoy sent it to me just to try to humiliate me. 

"I wonder where Ginny's going in such a hurry," Luna comments. I didn't even realize either of them were there. 

I wipe tears of laughter out of my eyes, and say, "Alright, alright. I've got a valentine for you to deliver." I pull the dwarf aside away from the prying eyes and ears of the crowd. Luna follows us, but that's alright. I bring out a parchment and quill, and hurriedly scribble up a terrible poem of my own. 

"Who's this for?" the dwarf asks as I hand it to him. 

"Draco Malfoy," I say. 

"You like Draco Malfoy, Stormseeker?" Luna asks absently as the dwarf runs off. 

"Who else could have sent me that awful poem?" I say. 

"I didn't realize Draco was interested in boys," Luna says. 

I peer at her. "Wait, why are you wondering that Draco is interested in boys, but not me?" 

"Well, _you_ are pretty obviously gay," Luna says lightly. 

I snort softly. "I'm totally not, but I think I'm not going to concern myself overly much with such things for the next several years." 

"That's probably wise," Luna says thoughtfully, cocking her head at me. "Perhaps you are merely interested in blonds." 

"Huh?" I say. 

"Professor Lockhart, Draco, and I are all blond," Luna says. 

"I'm not even going there, Luna," I say, turning to head off toward the Great Hall for lunch. I'd love to see the look on Draco's face when he gets his valentine, but I've probably already missed it. 

Yeah, it looks like I've missed it. Draco is seated at the Slytherin table, looking positively steamed and gritting his teeth. 

"Well, _I_ thought it was cute," Blaise is telling him. 

"You would," Draco half-growls. 

"Too bad nobody's sent _me_ a valentine," Blaise says. 

Draco notices me eavesdropping nearby and glares over toward me. "What are _you_ looking at, Potter? Don't tell me you heard it, too?" 

"Heard what?" I ask innocently. 

Draco glowers at the Slytherin table. "If he doesn't know already, I forbid you all from telling him!" 

"Well, now you've got me curious," I say. 

"Draco got an anonymous valentine," Blaise says, grinning conspiratorily at me. 

"Blaise!" Draco snaps. "You traitor!" 

Blaise recites, " _Like melted butter is his hair, and worse than his bite is his roar, I wish I could be friend to the dragon fair, and I can always hope for more._ " 

"It was terrible!" Draco says. 

"Not as bad as the one I got," I say. "My eyes got compared to fresh pickled toad. Butter's a big improvement over that, I think." 

Draco thinks about that for a moment. "Alright, I hate to admit it, but you do have a point, Potter. But still!" 

Hmm, judging by that reaction, he _wasn't_ the one who sent me that valentine? Oh well. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have tried so hard to write an equally bad poem in return. And then realized that I utterly fail at writing poetry that is _that bad_ even if I try. 

"If I were you, Draco," I say. "I wouldn't take this silly event too seriously. Just be glad that at least the confetti isn't getting into the food." 

"Thank Merlin for small favors," Draco mutters. 

* * *

The next meeting of the Stormseeker Conspiracy is that Saturday. All five of us are to be present. I'm there for my 'detention' with Snape first, however. 

"I can't believe you brought Lockhart of all people into this," Snape says in disgust. 

"I couldn't risk him thinking that it might be a good idea to Obliviate me," I say. 

"Then he should have been fired, or _killed_ ," Snape says, shaking his head as the man in question comes out of the fireplace. Dumbledore and Luna arrive a moment later, from the Floo and the door respectively. 

"And why is the Lovegood girl here?" Snape wonders. 

"Stormseeker asked me to come," Luna says absently. 

" _She_ knows, too?" Snape says incredulously. "How many people have you told?" 

Dumbledore casts several spells over the office to ensure that we're not disturbed or overheard. "If Lexen trusts them, that is his business," Dumbledore says. "Although I do wish that he had consulted me before bringing Lockhart into this." 

"I hadn't really been planning on it when I went to his office that day," I say. 

"So, what, you just spilled it to him impulsively?" Snape says with a snort. 

"I assure you all that I am quite capable of keeping a secret," Lockhart says. "And the Stormseeker made me swear my loyalty to him before he would tell me anything. I am not certain what he might have done had I refused." 

"I imagine he would have killed you," Luna says brightly. 

"I hope not," Dumbledore says. "I had a hard enough time finding someone willing to teach Defense at all." 

"You could always hire _me_ for it, you know," Snape says. 

"Now, Severus, you know I need you teaching Potions," Dumbledore says. 

I rub my temples. "At least there haven't been any attacks since sealing the house areas at night," I say. "But have we made any progress on finding the culprit? Any whatsoever?" 

"None," Dumbledore says sadly. "I've had groups of teachers patrolling the halls at night, but thus far, no one has managed to spot anything out of the ordinary." 

"The vampire may simply be laying in wait for the next opportunity to strike," Lockhart says. 

"Vampire?" Snape repeats. "There's a basilisk on the loose, not a vampire!" 

"A vampire Parselmouth, controlling the basilisk in between hiding away deep in the recesses of Hogwarts during the day," Lockhart says. "Perhaps hoping to drink the blood of the basilisk's victims. Easy prey." 

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Snape says. 

"You don't think Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are absurd?" Luna says, eyes lighting up. 

Snape sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Much as I hate to say this, but I believe I would rather listen to whatever theories Lovegood has come up with, than Lockhart." Luna positively beams at this. 

"Still, Lockhart's thought has some merit," I say. "The culprit may simply be laying low and waiting for things to die down after Colin's death. Waiting for us to let down our guard, or for the perfect opportunity to strike." 

"It's possible," Snape reluctantly admits. 

"There are plenty of places in this castle that someone could hide, I think," I say. 

"No doubt," Dumbledore says. "Even I don't know everything about this castle. There are doubtless many rooms that even I don't know about." 

"And they could simply be staying in the Chamber of Secrets, for that matter," I say. "Nobody knows where _that_ might be, after all. And it'd be perfectly safe, since you'd need to be able to speak Parseltongue to get in." 

"This is true," Snape says, scowling. 

"So if we're to catch this person, it'll need to be when they come out to strike," I say. "And that would require putting someone at risk. If anyone should play bait, it should be me." 

"You still have classes to be attending, Stormseeker," Snape says. 

"I'll guzzle potions if I have to," I say. "I can take a short nap in the evening, and then wander around the hallways for a few hours at night and see if anything tries to attack me." 

"Under normal circumstances, I would not give such a mad plan a second thought," Dumbledore says. 

"I'm the one person who can do this without any real risk of dying, though," I say. "And it's not like I intend to try to fight the basilisk myself. I'll simply notify one of you if anything happens." 

"You're not even a Muggleborn, Stormseeker," Snape says. 

"I know," I say. "I'm a pureblood, so far as I know, and Harry Potter was a half-blood. But his mother was a Muggleborn, and somebody might still be upset about the whole defeating the Dark Lord as a baby thing, so I might just get targeted anyway." 

Snape frowns deeply. "Perhaps." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "I'll give my approval to this plan. I'll have Minerva slip you out of the common room after curfew each night." 

"She would get suspicious of this quickly," Snape points out. "I'll do it myself." 

"I could do it, also," Lockhart says. 

"I'll do it myself," Snape repeats, gritting his teeth. 

So, over the next couple weeks, I find myself patrolling the castle at night by myself. I find it a little amusingly ironic at this point that the Headmaster is now _helping_ me to effectively break the rules. But it's all for a good cause, right? 

I spend a few hours out each night, not always at the same time, but not long enough to keep me from missing enough sleep to be dead tired in classes the next day. And yet, aside from a couple unfortunate run-ins with Peeves, the nights are quiet. Nothing is happening. One might think that everything is perfectly safe again. But all that does is put me even more on edge. It's too quiet. The Heir of Slytherin hasn't just given up and gone home. I just know it. 

But why haven't there been more attacks? Two attacks over the entire school year, and I was able to prevent one of those? Maybe the culprit isn't actually staying at the school at all, but just sneaking in now and then to start some trouble. I don't know. Or maybe something's going on that I haven't even thought of yet. 

Frustrated, I head back to bed.


	23. Consequences

It's the third of March. I'm more tired than usual today, as I was out longer than usual last night in hopes of drawing out the Heir of Slytherin. Not tired enough to bother with a Wideye Potion, though. I'll save them for an emergency. I'll just suck it up and try to focus on my classes. Everything's looking to be another uneventful day, anyway. 

Classes progress as normal, and I head for the Great Hall for dinner. I'm eating at the Hufflepuff table with Luna tonight. Ham, potatoes, and corn for a quiet evening... 

Justin Finch-Fletchley storms into the Great Hall, late for dinner, and races up to the staff table. What's going on? Oh no, someone hasn't been attacked, have they? 

McGonagall's amplified voice echoes through the Great Hall. "Prefects, please escort your houses to their common rooms at once." 

I grab Luna and head over for the staff table. Since neither of us were eating at our proper tables, our houses won't immediately notice that we aren't where we're supposed to be. Dumbledore nods to me, and says, "To my office, at once." 

Momentarily, the Stormseeker Conspiracy is gathered in an emergency meeting in the Headmaster's office. "Alright, what happened?" I ask once everyone is present. Snape arrived a little late, as he was getting down the location. 

"Jennifer Stillman is dead," Dumbledore says. 

"When and where?" I ask. 

"Sometime between the end of her last classes for the day, and when dinner began," Dumbledore says. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley found her lying in a corridor on the way back from the greenhouses." 

"If classes were already out, nobody would notice if one of the students were somewhere they shouldn't be," I say, making a face. "Show me the spot." 

The five of us file out of the office again and head for the location. The girl's body hasn't been moved yet, and Professor Sprout is there with Justin. 

"This is terrible, terrible," Sprout says. 

"Pomona," Dumbledore says. "Would you escort Mr. Finch-Fletchley back to his dormitory? We'll take over the investigation from here." 

"Yes, Headmaster," Sprout says. "You heard the man. Let's go." Sprout and Justin head off. 

I look down at the girl. She was the one who told the Great Hall that Justin was dead, and now Justin found her dead instead. She was also the one who welcomed Luna and I to the Hufflepuff table for dinner the first time we ate there. And now she's dead. But I will save her. I will save her, damn it. 

"Was anyone seen nearby?" I ask, looking around for paintings, for _something_. Thankfully, there are actually a couple paintings in this section of the hallway. "You! Paintings! Did you see anything?" 

The terrified paintings poke their heads out. It's a portrait of a man in fine robes who replies. "A giant snake... It was a giant snake..." 

"But did you see any other _people_?" Dumbledore asks. 

The portrait shakes his head. "No, no other people besides the poor girl who was attacked." 

"The culprit could have ordered the snake to come, and have been nowhere near the scene of the crime himself," Snape says. 

I pace about in front of the corpse, trembling a little and sighing heavily. "I need all the information I can get, to take back," I say. "This might just be the chance to stop this. There will be several hours between when I woke up and when the attack would occur." 

"I'll have the heads of house do a headcount and make sure all the students are accounted for," Dumbledore says. "If anyone turns up missing..." 

"Could someone have been magically compelled in some way to do this?" I wonder. 

"It's possible," Snape says. "Someone might have been placed under the Imperius Curse, for instance." 

Luna nods thoughtfully. "Grackles aren't attracted to the weapon, just the one wielding it." 

Dumbledore, Luna, and I head back to the Headmaster's office, Snape going off to take care of that, and Lockhart dealing with the body. The change in location primarily results in me moving the spot where I'm pacing. At least I'm not being violently ill at the idea that somebody died this time. 

Snape returns after a while to report, "All students are currently accounted for." 

"I suppose it was too much to hope for, getting a clue out of that," I say, sighing. "Do we have anything else to go on?" 

"Lexen, there's a lot of pressure on you..." Dumbledore says. 

"Don't worry about me," I say. "That's what I'm here for." 

"When this incident is over, you should really take a few days off from school to rest up," Dumbledore says. 

I sigh. "If there isn't any other information to take back, I'd like to go now," I say. "Every minute is another minute that I have to stay awake, and I'm already going to need to use a potion as it is." 

"I have your way back here," Snape says, pulling out a vial. 

"Remember, don't try to handle the basilisk yourself," Dumbledore says. "Come and tell one of us immediately, so that we can begin a plan of action." 

"I know, I know," I say. "I'll do whatever I have to, but I know perfectly well that I don't stand a chance against that thing myself." 

Luna hugs me tightly. "Goodbye, Stormseeker," she says quietly. 

"Luna?" I say. 

"I hope you can save her, but _I'll_ never see you again," Luna says. 

"I'm sorry, Luna," I say quietly. "I have to try, though..." 

"You don't have to say goodbye, though," Luna says, smiling at me. "It's alright. Perhaps we'll meet again, somehow." 

"Are you _trying_ to convince me not to drink this?" I say. 

Luna shakes her head. "Never mind me. Do what you need to do. And good luck, Stormseeker." 

"Why do people always say that to me?" I say, smirking faintly. I drain the vial of poison and let the blackness take me. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor boys' dorm, and reach out to down a Wideye Potion to dispel my weariness. I have work to do. First stop, the Headmaster's office. 

"Ah, good morning, Stormseeker," Dumbledore says. "Is there a problem?" 

"Between the end of afternoon classes and the start of dinner, Jennifer Stillman will be killed in the first floor corridor near the greenhouses," I tell him. "No clues on the culprit, but the basilisk was definitely sighted." 

"I see," Dumbledore says, frowning. "Time to call together your Conspiracy and make some preparations, then." 

Momentarily, Snape, Lockhart, and Luna join us in the office. I brief them on what little I know. A victim, time, and place. What we need is the culprit, damn it. 

"But the culprit wasn't present?" Snape asks. 

I shake my head. "All the portrait saw was the victim and the basilisk itself," I say. "Nobody else was around." 

"Perhaps we should cancel afternoon classes and confine students to their common rooms," Dumbledore suggests. 

"The culprit would go to ground again and we might never catch him," Snape says. 

"Failing all else," I say. "Couldn't we just kill the damned basilisk? At least then, the culprit would need to get a new murder weapon, or kill people himself, and hence be forced to expose himself." 

Snape nods. "That is probably the best course of action, if we cannot pinpoint the culprit. Make sure a group of the staff members who are most competent at fighting are present in the right place at the right time, prepared to deal with the monster." 

"Meanwhile, the rest of us can keep our eyes open to see if anyone is suspiciously missing," I say. 

"The culprit is specifically targeting Muggleborns..." Lockhart says. 

"He's right," Dumbledore says. "Chances are, it's going after Miss Stillman, not going to a specific location. The basilisk may not even emerge if she isn't present." 

"Much as I hate using a child as bait, you're probably right about that," I admit. 

"I can Obliviate her afterward," Lockhart says. 

"I'll keep watch for anything unusual," Luna says. 

Snape gives her an odd look and says, "I'd say _you_ are something unusual." 

"Thank you, Professor," Luna says brightly. 

"Very well, we all know our tasks?" Dumbledore says, looking around to the rest of us, who nod. "I will notify the appropriate staff members and make arrangements for dealing with the basilisk. Let's get to breakfast, now. We've a long day ahead of us." 

And to think I had thought today would be just another boring day. I head off to the Great Hall to get something to eat. I really wish we had a better plan than this. I'm extremely uneasy about how today will go, but I bury it behind my Occlumency barriers and put on a cheerful face for the crowd. 

It's just as well that I've been through today's classes before, as I have a lot on my mind. As the hour of the attack approaches, I feel like I should be there, even though I know logically that I won't be able to do any good. I just can't shake the feeling of dread that something will go horribly wrong somehow. But no. I should have faith in the teachers. They're much more skilled wizards than me. 

As the hour approaches, I keep a close eye out for anyone acting strangely, or anyone that's about to run off by themselves. But I see nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that might give a clue as to what's really going on here. When the last class of the day gets out, I watch people. It's hard to keep track of what so many people are doing, however, and still I see nothing. I sigh to myself and head to the Great Hall. 

Luna isn't there yet. I'd imagine that she's probably having more success with this than I have. No matter. I must stay focused on my task. Even though I know, at this very moment, there's probably a terrible battle being fought elsewhere in the castle. 

Dinner's about to begin. Most of the teachers still aren't present. Jennifer isn't present. Luna isn't present. Has something gone wrong? 

"Harry?" Ron says, approaching me. "Come on, let's eat." 

I shake my head, but I'm unable to get any words out. 

"What, you upset that your girlfriend isn't here yet?" Ron says. "You've been spending more time around her lately than you have me and Neville. And I thought we were your best mates!" 

"Ron, shut up," I mutter. 

"What's gotten into you?" Ron says. 

"Harry, is something wrong?" Neville asks. 

"Stay here," I say, turning to head for the doors. 

"Harry! Wait!" Neville calls. 

They're ignoring me. They're following after me. I can't worry about that at the moment, though. I don't have time to stop and convince them to stay behind. I have to get to the attack location. I break into a run the minute I get clear of the worst of the crowds. 

"Harry!" Ron shouts. "Where are you going?" 

"Don't follow me!" I yell back. 

I reach the spot. Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and two teachers I don't recognize are standing there, poised for a battle that hasn't come. Jennifer is laying on the ground between them, and for a moment I think she's dead, but then I notice she's still breathing. They must have put her out so that she wouldn't accidentally look into the basilisk's eyes. 

"Harry?" Dumbledore says. "You shouldn't be here." 

"I know," I say. "But something's wrong." 

"What's going on here?" Ron wonders. 

"They're trying to catch Colin's killer," I explain shortly. I need to say _something_ , after all. 

"Oh..." Ron says dumbly. 

"Has something else gone wrong?" Dumbledore asks me. 

"I'm not sure," I say. "But _something_ isn't right." 

"We have not been attacked yet," Snape says. 

"Harry," Dumbledore says, looking at me pointedly. "Please take your friends and return to the Great Hall. We will remain here a while longer to see if anything happens." 

"But--" 

"You heard the Headmaster," Snape says. "Go." 

"Alright, alright," I say, gesturing to Ron and Neville. "Come on, guys." 

I reluctantly head back toward the Great Hall. Neville says, "I thought they said Colin was killed in an accident..." 

"You guys gotta keep this quiet, alright?" I say to them. "There's a murderer loose in the school. Not only would it cause a panic if it got out, but any chance of catching them would go out the window." 

"Merlin," Ron breathes. "I understand, mate." 

" _That_ is why I've been spending so much time around Luna lately," I say. "She can _see_ things most people can't." 

"Oh..." Ron murmurs. 

I sigh softly. "I really... just wish I could focus on classes and whatnot for once." 

"Maybe you should try to relax and get something to eat," Neville says. "I'm sure Dumbledore can handle it." 

"I can't even think about food at a time like this," I say. "I just want to know _what went wrong_." 

Nevertheless, I follow them back to the Great Hall and go quiet, putting on a mask of normalcy. I take at seat at the Gryffindor table and force myself to eat something, even though I can hardly taste it. Dumbledore's team doesn't return for the entirety of dinner, and I still see no sign of Luna, so I stumble on back to where the squad is waiting futilely for the basilisk to appear. 

"Sorry about bringing Ron and Neville into this," I say. "Still no sign of activity here?" 

"None," Dumbledore says. 

"I don't know where Luna is," I say. "I'm worried about her." 

"We will reconvene in my office," Dumbledore says. "Filius, go to the Ravenclaw area and see if Miss Lovegood returned there. The rest of you, search the rest of the castle for her." 

"We use an eleven year old girl as bait, and now a second one could be in danger?" McGonagall says. "Albus, I don't like this one bit." 

"I know, Minerva, but we have little choice in the matter," Dumbledore says. 

I return with Dumbledore to his office as the others go off to search for Luna. My body is trembling, and I slump down into a seat. 

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore says. 

I give a small nod and pop one into my mouth. "What went wrong?" I murmur. "What went wrong?" 

"Perhaps we tipped our hand, and the culprit decided not to attack," Dumbledore says. 

"And _where is Luna_?" I say. 

"Relax, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "We will find her." 

After several minutes and a handful of sherbet lemons, Snape's doe Patronus appears in the office. "Come to the Forbidden Lavatory," says the shining silver deer. "I have found Lovegood." 

Dumbledore and I rush out to Moaning Myrtle's restroom. There, laying on the floor below the Chamber of Secrets message, lays Luna, her body motionless. 

" _Luna!_ " I cry, rushing to her side. "Is she..." 

"Dead," Snape says. 

"Fuck," I mutter. "I'm going back for her. I still don't know what went wrong, but I've got to go back for her." 

Snape sighs softly. "I expected that you would say that." 

"We do not have any new information for you to take back, however," Dumbledore says. 

"Why was she killed _here_ of all places?" I say. "For that matter, why put this message about the Chamber of Secrets here? Why was Myrtle killed here fifty years ago? _What's with this damned restroom?_ " 

"Perhaps it is near the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?" Snape suggests. 

I rub my temples. "I don't know. Just... just send me back. Please." 

Dumbledore sighs. "Very well. I cannot argue with wanting to save your friend." 

I follow Snape back to his office, and numbly take the bottle of poison he offers me. I'm coming for you, Luna... 

* * *

I wake, and reach over to down a Wideye Potion. I still feel tired afterward, so I drink a second one. Damn it, I might not be able to get through another loop if something goes wrong this time. I'll have to do whatever I can. I get dressed and make my way to the Headmaster's office. 

"Call together the Conspiracy," I say. "The basilisk will be active today." 

Once the five of us have gathered in the office, I give them a debriefing on what happened during the previous two loops. 

Luna looks at the floor when I finish describing everything. "I'm sorry," she says. 

" _You_ haven't done anything yet," I say. 

"But I must have found something, and I died before I could tell anyone what it was," Luna says. 

"At least now we'll know how to avoid that outcome," Dumbledore says. 

"Yeah," I say. "Don't go near that restroom alone..." 

"The suggestion for attempting to take down the basilisk was a good one, however," Dumbledore says. "We will continue with that course of action. Take away the culprit's murder weapon and force him to come out and do it himself if he wants to kill children." 

I head off for breakfast, leaving the preparations to Dumbledore, and feeling a little better about things at least. With more forewarning, surely things will go better this time. Hopefully, this time, we won't lose anyone. 

I sit through today's classes again, growing increasingly tired along the way. I can't nap now, though. And I don't want to end up overdosing on Wideye Potion. This is making me increasingly uneasy again, as well. What if something goes wrong again somehow? How can I keep everyone safe? Too many terrible what-ifs running about in my head. I can't concentrate. I'm grateful when classes get out so I can at least stop pretending to pay attention. 

Shaking a little, I head up to my dorm room. I'm having trouble keeping up the mask, and don't want everyone to see me like this. I poke around in my trunk, and find some of Dumbledore's sherbet lemons. Didn't Professor Snape say that these were laced with a Calming Draught? I could really use that about now. I'm going crazy from stress and tension here. I pop one in my mouth, and start to suck on it, then another, and another. 

My eyelids are so heavy... it couldn't hurt to just close them for a moment... 

* * *

"Wake up, you fool boy!" Snape's voice cuts into my consciousness. 

I blink for a moment and rub my eyes. "Huh? I wasn't asleep... I was just resting..." 

"You couldn't stay awake, could you," Snape says, sighing. "To my office at once. I will debrief you there." 

I follow along after him, absently wondering what he's doing in the Gryffindor dormitories to begin with. He gets a number of stares from the students in the common room on the way out, and murmurings that I must be in _big_ trouble if he came for me like this. 

We arrive down in Snape's dungeon office, and he casts several spells to ensure our privacy. "Stormseeker, we could not kill the basilisk." 

"It escaped?" I ask. 

"No," Snape says. " _I_ escaped." 

"What?" I say dumbly. 

"The battle was a rout," Snape says. "We lost McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, Babbling, Kettleburn, and Lockhart." 

"Lockhart?" I say. "What was he doing there?" 

Snape sighs. "Trying to help." 

"Fuck," I say. "No wonder you lost, then." 

" _Lexen!_ " he snaps. 

"Sorry," I say grimly. 

"Dumbledore survived only by the grace of his phoenix," Snape goes on. "This... was an unmitigated disaster. Furthermore, Stillman and Lovegood were also killed before the basilisk retreated back to the Chamber of Secrets." 

I feel a sick knot in the pit of my stomach. "This is all my fault," I murmur. 

" _No_ ," Snape tells me firmly. "Do not blame yourself for this. You attempted to help. You gave us valuable information. This, or worse, could have happened even without your intervention." 

"I just made things worse," I say quietly. "Much, much worse... And I couldn't stay awake..." 

"I was going to find you to send you back, but no point in that now," Snape says. "Now, you'll just need to live with the same consequences that we will." 

"Consequences..." I repeat numbly. "What will happen now?" 

"Now?" Snape says. "Classes will be shut down and the students sent home immediately. We can't continue teaching with so many professors missing. And then after the civilians have been cleared from the area, Dumbledore talked of calling in a team of Aurors to scour the place from top to bottom. The basilisk will need to be killed and new teachers re-hired before anyone can even think of starting classes again." 

"Shit," I whisper. The real impact of this disaster is only slowly starting to sink in. _And I fell asleep._ Fuck, why did I have to fall asleep? 

"These are the worlds you leave behind every time you die carelessly," Snape says. 

"What am I going to do now?" I murmur. 

"Perhaps you should return to the Burrow with your Weasley friends," Snape says. 

I shake my head. "No. I'm not done here. I should help with finding the Chamber of Secrets and stopping the basilisk." 

"I think you've done quite enough, but the final decision isn't up to me," Snape says. "Return to your dormitory. The students will be returning home tomorrow. You'll be notified on whether you will be allowed to participate by then." 

"Alright," I murmur. I can't imagine that Dumbledore would cut me out at this point, after everything that's happened, after everything we've done. But I suppose I can understand that he might blame me for what happened. I certainly blame _myself_ enough. 

I stumble back to the Gryffindor Tower in a daze. I get changed into my pajamas, and by the time I curl up in bed, I'm crying unashamedly. 

"Harry?" Ron says quietly, coming up to the side of my bed. 

"What's wrong?" Neville asks. 

"Why are you crying?" Seamus wonders. 

They don't know, yet. They haven't been told, yet. Would they be able to get to sleep at night if they had any idea what happened today? Fuck it. I'm sick of secrets. Sick to death of them. 

"We're going home tomorrow," I say. 

"What?" Dean says in puzzlement. 

"What are you talking about?" Ron asks. 

I sit up, and gesture to them to gather around in the center of the room on the floor, sitting cross-legged. "There's a monster loose in the school," I tell them. "It killed Colin. The teachers were trying to kill it..." 

"What happened?" Neville asks. 

I'm shaking, and I choke out through sobs, "Half the teachers are _dead_." 

" _What?_ " Ron exclaims. 

"You can't be serious," Seamus says. 

"Oh, Merlin," Neville says. 

"Professor McGonagall is dead," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. "So is Flitwick. And Lockhart. And three others..." 

"Well, nobody will miss that prat Lockhart at least," Ron says. 

"Ron!" Neville says. "The man's dead, don't speak ill of him!" 

"This is terrible!" Dean says. 

"I can't believe it," Seamus says. "Why would they tell _you_ about this all first?" 

"Because I was involved," I say. "I was helping their investigation. But I didn't realize things would go oh so very badly..." 

"Merlin, I'm sorry, Harry," Ron says. "You-- I'm sure you'd be welcome to come back and stay with us at the Burrow if the school gets shut down." 

"Thanks, Ron," I say. "I appreciate it." 

"We live near the Lovegoods too, so you'll be able to... Harry?" 

I practically choke at that. "Luna... Luna's dead, too," I manage to sob out. 

"Oh, Merlin," Ron whispers. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." 

Neville hugs me. "I know you were close to her," he says. "This might not be saying much, but at least you've still got us... We've got your back, Harry." 

"Thanks, Neville," I say, sighing softly. "Maybe I should've asked Snape for a dreamless sleep potion while I was downstairs." 

"Knowing Snape, he'd probably just poison you," Ron says. 

I snort softly in morbid amusement. "I'm sorry to tell you guys such horrible news before bed," I say. "But I'm sick of lying and hiding things. We've kept this secret for months, and now... now look where that's gotten us." 

"It's alright, Harry," Neville says. "Thanks for telling us." 

"Best try to sleep now, I suppose," I say. "The train will be coming to get us in the morning." 

We crawl into our beds. As tired as I still am, however, sleep is a long time in coming. And when I do get to sleep finally, it's with the thought that I will wake up on the previous morning, with this nightmare never having happened. But it's just wishful thinking.


	24. Everyone Has Secrets

It's remarkable how quickly they got the Hogwarts Express to Hogsmeade, and made arrangements for us all to go home. There's a somber, stunned silence among the students as we board the train. Shock, denial, disbelief... How could this have happened? Everything was going well enough, aside from the occasional attack, and then suddenly, everything's broken, like glass shattering across a stone floor. 

I find myself sitting alone on the train ride back. Ron went off to sit with the other Gryffindor boys, and I didn't care to speak with them, not now. I'm positively moping in a self-imposed exile. At least, until Draco Malfoy pokes his head into my compartment. 

"So, I hear that you lost your girlfriend, Potter," Draco says. 

"Malfoy," I say, gritting my teeth. "Be glad that I've been having to learn to control myself better, or I'd 'accidental magic' you right out the window." 

"But I'm standing in the corridor," Draco says. 

"Exactly," I tell him darkly, shaking my head a little. "And Luna was a pureblood -- you shouldn't have anything against that." 

Draco snorts softly. "So why are you sitting by yourself?" Draco asks. "Your so-called friends go and abandon you?" 

"No," I say. "I just... wanted to be by myself for a bit." 

"Well, in that case..." Draco plops down next to me, and gestures to Crabbe and Goyle to take a seat as well. 

I smirk at them. "I don't know whether you're trying to annoy me or cheer me up." I pause. 

"Certainly not the latter, that's for sure," Draco says. 

"Either way, thanks, Draco," I say. Even if it's Draco, I find that I really didn't want to be alone today after all. 

Draco snorts. "Don't mention it." 

"I... Draco... I don't know if I ever told you, but I'm sorry about your parents," I say quietly. 

"Why?" Draco says. "It's not like _you_ killed them. Besides, at least they can't boss me around anymore." 

I refuse to let my expression betray anything. He puts on a good mask himself, but I know he's still hurting. "Everything's just fallen apart this year, hasn't it." 

"If you're going to sit in here moping, I _will_ intervene," Draco says. "No way am I going to put up with that." 

"Sorry," I say. 

"And don't tell me you're planning to stay with the Weasleys again, are you?" Draco says. 

"Yeah," I reply. "But at least their house has gotten a lot better now that I had Dobby clean it up a bit." 

Draco snorts in amusement. "I'll bet. _I'm_ going to hire a tutor to finish out the year. And to make up for having an utterly useless Defense professor this year." 

"Good idea," I say. I hadn't really thought about that. 

"And if you ever get sick of the Weasleys' barn, there's plenty of room in Malfoy Manor," Draco says. "Of course, I'd make you pay rent..." 

He's afraid he's going to be lonely in that big house by himself, I think. "Thanks, Draco," I murmur. This is the friendliest I've seen him in a long time, so I'll take it for what it's worth. 

"Don't thank me," Draco says. "It's not like I'm doing this for _your_ sake." 

When we arrive back at Kings Cross Station, Molly and Arthur Weasley are present to pick up their children and me. 

"I took the day off of work to come and get you," Arthur says. "What in the world happened?" 

Ron and I look at the ground. Even the twins are silent for once. Ginny looks as though she's about to be sick. Percy finally says, "It was a disaster." 

"Let's go home," I say quietly. 

Nobody cares to argue with that sentiment. We all pile into the Ford Anglia and head back for Ottery St. Catchpole. Nobody seems to be quite sure just what to say. 

"I... Harry," Arthur says as we're unpacking at the Burrow. "I don't know when Hogwarts will open up again, but you're welcome to stay here until then. Or are you planning to go home?" 

"Thanks for the offer," I say. "I appreciate it. I'd like to stay here for now." 

After dinner, I pull out a quill and a piece of parchment to write a letter for Solomon to take to Dumbledore. Something to keep my mind off things a bit. "Headmaster Dumbledore," I write. "I am considering hiring a tutor for myself and my friends for the interim. Do you have any recommendations?" 

The next morning, Solomon has a response for me. "Why don't you ask Remus Lupin?" Dumbledore wrote. "He was a friend of James and Lily Potter." 

I pull out another parchment and write up a message. "Mr. Remus Lupin," I begin. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, Hogwarts has been closed for the time being. Because of this, I would like to hire a tutor for myself and my friends to make up for lost time. Headmaster Dumbledore recommended you to me. He told me that you were a friend of my parents. Would you be willing to do this for me? Signed, Harry Potter." 

I hate having to play off sympathy for the dead, but I imagine that Harry Potter would do no differently. And I'm Harry Potter, now. Plus, I'm still here to learn, after all. I might as well try to do that however I can. If I had left well enough alone, I might have had a few more months at Hogwarts... No, I'm not going to start dwelling on what-ifs again. 

I let the Weasleys know at breakfast about the tutor situation. Arthur says thoughtfully, "Hmm, I seem to recall a Remus Lupin. Good lad, fairly quiet." 

After another exchange of letters, Remus Lupin comes over the next day to discuss things further in person. He's a bit of a scruffy man, in a ruggedly handsome sort of way. 

"Hello, Mr. Lupin," I say. 

"Ah, you're young Harry, aren't you," Remus says, giving me a look over. "Yes, you have your mother's eyes." 

"So I'm told, sir," I say. 

"There's no need to be so formal, Harry," Remus says. "Just call me Remus. None of this 'sir' and 'Mr. Lupin' business from you, alright?" 

"Alright, Remus," I say. 

"Why don't you come in and have a seat in the kitchen?" Molly says. "Would you like a cup of tea?" 

"Ah, yes, please," Remus says. He comes inside and sits down, and Molly pours him a cup of hot tea. "It's good to finally meet you, Harry. I just wish we could have met under better circumstances." 

"I just don't understand why you haven't tried to contact me before now," I say. 

"Well, Dumbledore said you were to be placed with your Muggle family," Remus says. "And he forbade me to contact you. Said that any contact with the outside world might compromise security. But it seems that was just a cover up to send you to the States instead." 

"I can understand that," I say. "But I've been at Hogwarts for the last two years." 

"I apologize for that," Remus says. "I could not be certain that you might wish to speak with me after all this time." 

"The only reason I didn't speak with you was because I was being hidden away on the other side of the world," I say. I rub my temples. "I-- just-- never mind. You know what? I don't even care anymore at this point." 

There's a muffled crashing sound from outside. Molly says, "Oh dear. I'd best go help Dobby with that." She rushes out of the kitchen. 

"Dobby?" Remus asks. 

"House-elf," I reply. "So, are you willing to do the tutoring, and when can you start?" 

"I would be reluctant, for most people, but for you, I'll do it," Remus says. "I've drawn up a schedule for the spring and summer, if this would be acceptable." He pulls out a calendar and passes it over to me. "I can get started on the tenth." 

I look over the schedule, and scratch my head a bit. The dates are each marked with the day of the week, the phase of the moon on that day, and any holidays that fall upon them. Remus has also marked a few days off every month. "Remus, I can understand wanting time off now and then, but why only over the full moon? What are you, a werewolf?" I smirk at him. 

"I-- erm..." Remus blinks at me. "I have a... medical condition." 

"Wait, seriously?" I say, blinking back at him. "I _was_ joking, but it's not like I'm going to hold that against you, anyway." 

"I was just surprised," Remus says. "Most people don't figure it out quite that quickly." 

"If you don't want people to figure it out that easily, don't ask for time off only during the full moon," I say. 

"I normally wouldn't, but I wanted to make sure you had as much education as I could give you," Remus says. "You're really alright with that?" 

I snort softly. "That seems like a minor thing compared to some of _my_ secrets. I'll admit that I don't know much about werewolves, but if you want to keep it a secret, then I will keep your secret, no problem." 

"Your secrets?" Remus repeats. 

"I'm not telling you," I say. "They're secret." I smirk. "Maybe later." 

"Ah," Remus says. "I understand that you don't really trust me yet. You barely know me, after all." 

"That has nothing to do with it," I say. "There's just some things that I refuse to talk about unless under every privacy spell that can feasably be cast at the time." 

"I see," Remus says. The door opens again, and Molly returns, leaving us to quickly drop this line of conversation. "So, is the lesson schedule acceptable?" 

I nod. "It's fine. Do you mind if I invite some friends over to join us as well?" 

"Invite whoever you like," Remus says. "What sort of subject matter would you like me to cover?" 

"How good are you with Defense?" I ask, then quickly shake my head. "No, scratch that question. You can't possibly be as bad at Defense as our last professor was." 

"What, Lockhart?" Molly says. "But he's a brilliant man, all those books he wrote..." 

"I was _in_ his classes," I say. "Ask Percy if you don't believe me. I'll say no more about it. He did his best, even if it cost him his life in the end. But I won't gloss over the fact that all we managed to learn this year was the Disarming Charm, and that was because Snape demonstrated it for us. On Lockhart." 

"Very well," Remus says. "I'll focus primarily on Defense, then." 

"I'll have Percy and the twins attend as well," Molly says. "They could use a refresher course, and given the spotty quality of the Hogwarts Defense professors in general, filling in the gaps and giving them a more solid foundation as well." 

"Good idea," I say. 

After working out the details a bit more, Remus heads home, and I head up to the room I share with Ron to write out messages for Dean, Seamus, and Neville, and as an afterthought, I send one to Justin Finch-Fletchley as well. I let them know that they're welcome to invite anyone else they like as well. 

"Master Harry?" says Dobby's voice behind me as I'm giving Justin's letter to Solomon. 

"I'm not your master, anymore, just your employer," I tell him. 

"Boss?" 

"That'll do, I suppose," I say, smirking. "What is it, Dobby?" 

"Dobby was vanishing rubbish earlier," Dobby says, pulling out a small book and handing it to me. "But Dobby couldn't vanish this." 

I take it from him and peer at it, frowning. It looks like an ordinary diary, but if Dobby couldn't vanish it, it must have strong enchantments on it. "This was in the rubbish?" I ask. 

Dobby nods. "What should Dobby do with it?" 

"I'll take care of it myself," I say. "Thanks for bringing this to me, Dobby." 

Dobby beams at me, and leaves. I take a closer look over the diary. It's marked with the name 'T. M. Riddle'. I don't recall anyone at school by that name, but then I haven't memorized the names of everyone in every year, either. Maybe one of the Weasleys brought it home by mistake, or perhaps the twins stole his diary as a prank. Perhaps I should have Solomon send it back to him, once he's done carrying letters for me. 

I flip open the diary out of curiosity, and notice that every page is blank. How strange. Did Mr. Riddle never get a chance to write in it? Or did the twins perhaps erase every page as a joke? Well, I'd best return it, anyway, and apologize for this. I pull out my quill again and write a note on the first page of the diary. "Mr. Riddle," I write. "I apologize that your diary has found its way into my hands in this condition. This is doubtless someone's idea of a bad joke. I'm sending my owl to return it to you promptly." 

As I finish writing and put the quill aside again, the ink sinks into the page and vanishes, and then reforms into the words, "Wait. Who are you?" 

Perhaps I should have expected this, as the diary was obviously enchanted. Of course it's a magic diary of some sort. I pick up my quill and write a reply. "I'm Harry Potter. I was in second year in Gryffindor." 

Again, the writing vanishes, and new words appear. "Harry Potter... My name is Tom Riddle. Do not send me away, please." 

I write, "You don't want your diary back?" 

"I am not a student at Hogwarts any longer," the diary reads. "I attended Hogwarts many years ago. This diary holds my memories, and many secrets that some would wish to keep quiet." 

"I see," I write, frowning a little. "Did you tell someone about the Chamber of Secrets, then?" 

"I did," Tom Riddle replies. 

"Someone forced you to divulge your secrets in hopes of attaining knowledge and power?" I scrawl onto the page. "Now it all makes sense." 

"Tell me what has happened," Tom Riddle's diary states. 

"The Chamber of Secrets was opened," I write. "Salazar Slytherin's basilisk was unleashed upon the school. The teachers tried to fight it, and half of them wound up dead. The school was closed, and we were sent home." 

"That is grave news indeed," Tom replies. 

"Please help me," I write back frantically. "I need to know where the Chamber of Secrets is located." This might just be my chance to solve this problem once and for all. I'll have to remember to thank the twins for stealing this diary from whoever the culprit really was, even though I'm sure they had no idea what it really was. 

"Where are you now?" Tom asks. "And how did you come upon this diary?" 

"I'm at the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family, in Ottery St. Catchpole," I write. "My house-elf found the diary in the rubbish. I imagine that the Weasley twins probably stole it and threw it away as a prank. Who had you before then? Who used you to inflict this horror upon the school?" 

"I'm afraid I cannot say," Tom replies. "I apologize. My previous owner forced me not to divulge their secrets." 

"I'm not surprised," I write, sighing. "Would that it were that easy." 

"Perhaps it would be best not to let anyone else find out that you have this diary," Tom suggests. "It would be bad if anyone were to discover its true nature." 

"You have a point," I write. "Can you help me, though? Can you at least tell me how to get into the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"I will help you," Tom replies, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "I must ask something of you in exchange, however." 

"What is it?" I write. 

"I require a bit of your blood in order to unlock this diary's secrets," Tom tells me. 

That seems reasonable enough. I carefully prick my finger and spill a few drops of scarlet dragon's blood onto the diary. Just like the ink, the blood sinks into the page and disappears. "Will that be sufficient?" I write. 

"Ah..." Tom replies. "Yes, that is sufficient. Now I can tell you what I know. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is located in the girls' lavatory on the first floor, behind one of the sinks. In order to open the way, the word ' _open_ ' must be said in Parseltongue." 

I stare at the page incredulously for several long moments before fumbling with my quill and writing, "You can't be serious." 

"I have spoken truly, and divulged a great secret to you," Tom states. 

"You're telling me that Salazar Slytherin put his fabled Chamber of Secrets inside of a GIRL'S RESTROOM?" I write. 

"Perhaps it was not always a restroom," Tom replies. "I do not know. But it would be a clever place of hiding it, wouldn't it? Who would think to look there?" 

"I suppose you have a point," I write. 

"Be certain to take me with you when you go." 

I'm about to write to ask him more questions, but I hear noises from downstairs and someone coming up the stairs. The boys must have gotten home. I quickly tuck the diary away into my robes. This isn't something I'm going to trust just laying around. I'd best keep it on me at all times. 

"Hey, Harry," Ron says, poking his head in the door. "What're you doing?" 

"I was writing letters to some of the other boys in our year," I say. "I've invited anyone who wants to come to join us with our tutoring." 

"So Mr. Lupin took the job?" Ron says. "That's great." He grimaces. "I hope he doesn't give homework, though." 

"I've asked him to focus primarily on Defense," I say. "Hopefully that'll help make up for this past year being useless and the previous one being mediocre." 

"Sounds good," Ron says. "Mum said dinner's almost ready. Best come on downstairs." 

"Right," I say. Ron heads out ahead of me, and I take a moment to secure the diary and make sure that it's not going to slip out at the wrong moment. Another secret that I can't tell anyone about. I should be used to secrets by this point. 

* * *

I exchange several letters with Dumbledore, begging him to be allowed back to the school to help with the investigation. But he firmly tells me to stay at the Burrow, and that I will be notified if I'm needed or if the situation changes. I try to hint to him that I've learned something more about the Chamber of Secrets, but he won't listen or entirely misses it. I sigh and resolve myself to enjoy my tutoring, at least. I'm getting annoyed enough about the situation that I'm not sure if I even _want_ to share the secret of the chamber with them. 

At Remus's first lesson, Dean and Justin show up in addition to the Weasleys. "Thanks for inviting me," Dean says. "My family's Muggle, so I wouldn't have the chance to practice my magic otherwise." 

We've all gathered in a makeshift classroom at the Burrow, and the room seems to have been magically expanded to make sure we'd have room to move around. Remus Lupin gets up in front of the room, and says, "Welcome, children. My name is Remus Lupin. I'm glad to see you all value your magical education. I will be focusing primarily upon combat and defensive magic for the moment. Before we get started, I'd like to get an idea of how much you all have learned in this subject so far." 

"This year's professor hid under his desk from pixies," Ron says. 

"Last year's professor stuttered all the time and fainted at the sight of trolls," Dean says. 

"The year before that was taught by a Squib," Fred says. 

"And the one before _that_ was a drunk," George adds. 

"And then there was the little old lady who taught us how to politely signal before casting any spell," Percy says. 

"I think I get the idea," Remus says dryly. "Very well. Let's start with the basics." He gestures toward a line of dummies laid out along the wall. "These dummies can take quite a bit of punishment. Let's start with the basics. Let me see your Knockback Jinx." 

Ginny has a bit of trouble with the spell, but we can all manage to cast it well enough. After ascertaining that we all have a fairly solid grasp of the Knockback Jinx, he checks on our Disarming Charms. Ginny hasn't actually learned that one yet, but after seeing it demonstrated, she manages to cast it after a few tries. 

Remus says, "Alright. Let's look at something different. Can you cast the Full Body-Bind Curse?" 

Everyone but the twins and Percy shake their heads. "We haven't learned that one yet," I say. "What's the incantation?" 

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Remus says. "It renders a person completely immobile." 

"What's the difference between that and _Immobulus_?" I ask. 

"I'm glad you asked that, Harry," Remus says. "Oftentimes, you may see spells that have superficially similar effects. But the type of magic and the specifics of the effects and requirements may be very different. The Freezing Charm holds something in place exactly as it is, and it usually isn't strong enough to affect something human-sized, but it can affect objects. The Full Body-Bind Curse, however, is only used on living beings. It snaps the victim's arms and legs together, but does not hinder their breathing or sight." 

"And one's a charm and the other's a curse," Ron says helpfully. 

"Yes, and that distinction means more than it might appear at first glance," Remus says. "Different types of magic have a different... flavor to them, so to speak. Some people are naturally better at casting some types of spells than others. And sometimes certain effects are blocked or hindered, but others are not." 

"I see," I say thoughtfully. 

"Now, let's see you all try this out on the dummies," Remus says. "First, a demonstration. Watch my wand movements." Remus pulls out his wand and waves it at one of the dummies. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " The dummy's limbs snap together, and it wobbles a little. "Now it's your turn." 

We take our turn to practice the spell. I'm able to get it on the first try without any problem. The others in my year have a little more trouble with it, but get it after a few attempts. 

"We already know this spell, too," Fred says, demonstrating that he can cast it. 

"But Mum is making us be here anyway," George says. 

"She has good reason for it," Percy tells them. "There's no telling what we may or may not have learned over the years. And more practice never hurts." 

"This _is_ a fun spell, though," Fred says. 

"And you're not supposed to use Defense Against the Dark Arts to prank people with!" Percy says firmly. 

"Even Slytherins?" George says. 

" _No_ ," Percy says. 

"You're not a prefect here, Percy," Fred says. 

"And there's no Slytherins to prank, either," Percy says. "Now pay attention to the lesson. Harry's generously paying for it and allowing us to attend, after all." 

The twins grumble a little more, and return their attention back to the lesson. 

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Remus continues to tutor us. Some more students in the first, second, and third years show up after hearing about what we're doing, and we soon wind up with a group almost as large as many actual classes at school. 

Following one class, after everyone else has gone home, Remus takes me aside. "Harry, I'm going to need an extra day off this month." 

"What's going on?" I ask. 

"Dumbledore requested to have me come to Hogwarts to help search for the Chamber of Secrets," Remus says. 

"He's asking for _your_ help, but refuses mine?" I say. 

"You're only twelve, Harry," Remus says. "You can leave this one to the adults." 

"I _know_ where the Chamber of Secrets is, though," I say. 

Remus stares at me. "If you knew this, why didn't you tell anyone? Aurors have been scouring the castle for weeks." 

"Because Dumbledore wouldn't listen to me and shut me out of the investigation," I say. "If you're going up to Hogwarts, take me along. I can get us into the Chamber of Secrets." 

"Why don't you just tell me?" Remus says. 

"You won't be able to get in," I say. "You need someone that can speak Parseltongue to do it." 

"And, what, are you going to tell me you're a Parselmouth now?" Remus says. 

"No," I say. "But I've an idea." 

Remus sighs. "And, let me guess, you're going to refuse to tell anyone anything unless you're allowed to come along." 

"Yes," I say. 

"That's very immature," Remus says. 

"Remus, I'm _twelve_ ," I say. 

"Exactly," Remus says, and sighs. "I'll speak with Dumbledore." 

"Thanks," I say. 

"Don't thank me," Remus says. "I'll not be giving him any compliments on your maturity, and you certainly won't be allowed to put yourself into unnecessary danger. But if you're going to insist on being foolish and withholding vital information just for the sake of doing so, I can't stop you." 

"I'm sorry, Remus," I say. "I have my reasons. And enough people have died because of me already." 

"They died doing their job," Remus says. "That was hardly _your_ fault." 

"You don't understand, and I can't tell you," I say. He's one of the few people who would know Harry Potter. If he knew that his friends' child was really dead and Dumbledore's been lying to everyone... I can't tell him. I can't tell him that. I'd like to be able to trust him, but this is one secret I can't bear to tell him. 

That evening, I receive an owl from Dumbledore. It reads, "Remus will bring you to Hogwarts on April 4th. Be prepared." 

Finally, I'm going to get to do something. It's time to finish this.


	25. Eyes of Doom

On the fourth of April, quietly make sure that Tom Riddle's diary is firmly tucked away into my robes, and take the Floo with Remus up to Hogwarts, straight to the Headmaster's office. There's a man I don't recognize already in the room with him, who has one glass eye and a peg-leg. He's holding an object that looks like it might be a cage, covered in a white cloth. There's also a young woman with vivid pink hair. 

"Ah, there you are," Dumbledore says. "Harry, this is Alastor Moody, a highly skilled Auror, and his protege, Nymphadora Tonks." 

"Just call me Tonks," says the pink-haired girl, making a face. 

"Some call me 'Mad-Eye'," says the man with the glass eye. 

I smirk faintly, and say, "There are those who call me the Stormseeker." 

Tonks' eyes widen, and she says, "You--" 

"Let us begin," Dumbledore says, interrupting whatever she might have been about to say. "Harry, Remus tells me that you know something about the Chamber of Secrets that you weren't telling us." 

"I didn't actually find out until I got back to the Burrow, sir," I say. "And by that point, you weren't listening to a thing I said." 

"I apologize if I treated you unduly harshly," Dumbledore says. "You must understand that it has been rough here in the aftermath of that battle." 

"It was all very foolish," Moody says. "But we won't make the same mistakes this time." He pats the cloth. 

"If I might ask, what's under the cloth?" I wonder. 

"Heh," Moody says, pulling it off to reveal... a rooster? Once I get a look at it, Moody covers it up again. 

"What, is that for bait?" I ask. 

"Didn't you know, boy?" Moody says. "The crow of a rooster is fatal to a basilisk." 

I blink at him. "Wait, what?" 

"And unfortunately, all of the roosters at Hogwarts had been killed before Christmas," Dumbledore says. 

"This thing can be killed by a _rooster_?" I say incredulously. "Are you bloody serious? Why didn't someone mention this before?" 

"We had no roosters available," Dumbledore says. "So it was a moot point." 

"Couldn't someone have brought in one from elsewhere when we realized it was a basilisk behind the attacks?" I ask. 

"We were still trying to cover things up at the time," Dumbledore says. "And we were afraid of tipping our hand and letting our culprit know that we knew about the basilisk." 

I put my face in my hands. "Sometimes I think this is why I'm really here," I say. "If an ordinary twelve-year-old can poke holes in your plans, you need to think of a better damned plan!" 

Moody gives a short bark of laughter. "I like the way this boy thinks. Now, we've got a plan for dealing with the basilisk. But how are we going to get into the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"I have an idea for that," I say. "Can we go to the Founders' Room again? I must speak with Salazar Slytherin." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. He leads us off down the hallway and into the secret room where the paintings of the four Founders are kept. 

On the way there, I say to the others, "Last time I was here, I told Slytherin that I'm a pureblood named Lexen Chelseer." 

"Why didn't you just claim to be a pureblood under your real name?" Remus wonders. "It's not like he'd know the difference, and the Potters are an old pureblood family." 

"I'm paranoid," I say. 

"Constant vigilance!" Moody says. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you." 

We arrive in the Founders' Room, and Dumbledore goes over to wake the painting of Salazar Slytherin. "Salazar, Lexen here needs to speak with you again," Dumbledore says. 

"Thank you, Headmaster," I say, approaching the portrait and giving it a polite bow. 

"Ah, Lexen Chelseer, you've returned," Slytherin says. "Have you caught the imposter trying to steal my secrets yet?" 

"Not yet, but I've got a solid lead now," I say. "I know where the Chamber of Secrets is, and I believe the culprit to be hiding inside. I need your help to get into it, however." 

The painting frowns. "I dislike the idea of helping outsiders get into my chamber... however, the thought of an imposter holed away in there, claiming my secrets for their own... yes, I will help you. But you must promise me that you will seal the place up again afterward and not try to claim that which does not belong to you." 

"Bloody right we'll seal it up again afterward," Moody says. 

"Headmaster," I say, turning to Dumbledore. "Can you remove the painting from the wall and shrink it down a bit?" 

Dumbledore pulls the painting off the wall and taps it with his wand, and it shrinks down to a third of its original size, much easier to carry. "I'll admit, I never would have thought of this myself," Dumbledore says. "How do you know this will work?" 

"Luna told me that a painting of a Parselmouth is still a Parselmouth," I say. 

"Indeed so," Slytherin agrees. "And I certainly wouldn't have agreed to do this for any of you mere half-bloods, either." 

Carrying the painting of Salazar Slytherin, I say, "Alright. I'll show you where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is located." 

I head out down the empty corridors and make my way to the so-called Forbidden Lavatory. The castle seems so quiet without any students in it, it's almost unnatural. The others follow along behind me as I enter the restroom. Myrtle seems to be either absent or feeling quiet at the moment, at least. The place isn't even too badly flooded at the moment. 

"This is it," I say. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is apparently behind that sink." 

Tonks lets out a snicker of amusement. "Here? Really?" 

"A girls' restroom?" Remus says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Why in Merlin's name would I put my Chamber of Secrets in a privy?" Slytherin wonders. 

"If even _you_ don't know, then _I_ certainly have no idea," I say. 

"How do we open it?" Dumbledore asks. 

"The password is simply the Parseltongue word for ' _open_ '," I say. 

A hissing sound emerges from the painting in my hands, and the sink and the wall behind it suddenly shift. My heart leaps as I peer into the passageway leading downward. 

"Right, before we head down there, let's make sure nothing stupid happens," Moody says. He taps himself on the head with his wand, and a blindfold covers his good eye. Then he turns to Tonks and taps her with his wand, and a pair of protective goggles appears on her head. He does that for each of the rest of us in turn. They're very strange to look out of, and feel a little disorienting. "Try to avoid looking into the basilisk's eyes regardless, but with these on, the gaze will merely petrify rather than kill you." 

One by one, the five of us slide down to the bottom. The place is dark and ominous, and there's an enormous shed snake skin laying on the ground. 

"It's _that big_?" Tonks says, eyes widening. 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says grimly. 

"It _is_ a thousand year old magical creature," Moody says. 

A little further on, we come to a door that seems to have no immediate way of getting open. "Parseltongue again?" I suggest. 

The painting hisses again, and the huge door slowly swings open, revealing a long, dimly lit chamber. 

Moody peers about the place thoroughly with his magical glass eye as we creep through the Chamber slowly. "Empty," he says as we reach a large statue of Salazar Slytherin at the end. 

"There's nobody in here?" I ask. 

"Nope," Moody says. 

"Liars!" Slytherin's painting exclaims. "Interlopers! You tricked me!" He makes a dreadful hissing sound, and the mouth of the enormous statue starts opening... and the basilisk slithers out. 

I feel dizzy and light-headed. The room spins, and my vision blurs. My skin is crawling, as if tiny snakes are worming their way just beneath the surface. I black out. 

* * *

I wake, to find myself staring at a distant ceiling. Where am I? This isn't where I woke up this morning, so I must have just been knocked out, rather than killed. I'm still in the Chamber of Secrets. What happened? 

My protective goggles have been knocked away, so I carefully take a survey of my surroundings. Tom Riddle's diary is lying on the ground beside me. I relax a little once I realize the basilisk isn't in the room anymore. But that relief only lasts a brief moment before I see the bodies on the ground. 

Moody, laying next to a broken cage, without a mark on him, the rooster motionless as well. Remus and Tonks, laying side by side, both pierced by large venomous fangs. And Dumbledore, laying flat on his back as his phoenix cries into his chest. What did they do, stun me for my own protection or something? I wouldn't put it past them, at this point. But a fat lot of good that'll do any of us now. What in the Abyss happened? Another disaster, that's what. 

I look around for Slytherin's painting, and find it laying dropped face-up nearby, still shrunk. I clamber over toward it, shaking a little. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "This was all my fault..." 

"Don't fret over it, Lexen, my boy," Slytherin replies. "At least someone here is still loyal to me." 

I hear a soft groan behind me, and look over my shoulder. Dumbledore is getting up! He's still alive! "Dumbledore!" 

"What?" Slytherin says. "That lying, scheming Headmaster isn't dead yet?" He hisses, and the statue at the end of the room opens again. Oh, no... 

"Damn you," Dumbledore murmurs. 

"What went wrong?" I murmur, shaking and staring at the ground, not even caring about the deadly giant snake behind me. The far greater mercy if it kills me. 

"You failed," Dumbledore says darkly. 

I stumble to my feet and turn to watch as Dumbledore is locked in a life and death battle with the enormous serpent. How did everything go so wrong? Moody's plan was perfect. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything came crashing down. Moody or Remus must have stunned me in a misguided attempt to keep me safe, and then the effect wore off when they died. 

"This Headmaster is stronger than I gave him credit for," Slytherin comments. "Why don't you give my snake a hand, boy?" 

"Are you insane?" I say, casting a glare at the painting. 

I turn to look back at the battle. But I'm not careful, or I just don't care anymore, and my eyes meet those of the basilisk. So big, so yellow... so deadly... 

* * *

I wake slowly, wearily thinking about needing to do something differently, needing to warn them. If I hadn't been along, they'd just have walked into the Chamber of Secrets without any inkling that something was going to go disastrously wrong. I just wish I knew _what_ had gone wrong, and quietly curse them for taking me out of the action like that. 

And then I look up at the ceiling and realize that this isn't the Burrow. Wait, what? Where am I? I look around. A small, private room, with a bed and desk, sparsely decorated. It seems familiar somehow, but I can't immediately place it. It's not the Burrow, not my dorm, and not the hospital wing, though. I'm also wearing different clothes, a loose night robe. I look around for my wand, but I don't find it. Damn it, just what I need, to be unarmed in an unknown place. 

Cautiously, I creep over to the door and peer around outside. A corridor with a number of doors leading off from it. There's a plaque on the outside of my door that reads, "Lexen Chelseer". My own name? How odd. And why is this all so familiar? I feel like I'm forgetting something. 

I make my way down the hallway and come to a very familiar cafeteria. There's an elf woman at the counter serving breakfast. Not a short creature like Dobby and Rispy, but a tall, human-like, graceful figure with elegant ears. There's several others in the cafeteria getting breakfast. A few humans, a gnome, a dwarf, a flying monkey. And then I see what she's serving. 

_Pancakes_. 

I sit down at a table, staring at my plate of pancakes, and it hits me where I am. Somehow, I'm back in Torn Elkandu. I'm back where this all began. No wonder this all seemed so familiar. I didn't even recognize my own room at first. I only spent a week here, after all, before the Dark Elkandu attacked the place. 

But here I am, eating pancakes in Torn Elkandu again. I don't know how it happened, but I've found myself back at the start. Back on the day I first died. 

It takes a few moments for the impact of this to really hit me. I can start over? I can really start over? It's possible to start over? This... this changes everything. 

I can save Moody, and Remus, and Tonks. 

I can save McGonagall, Flitwick, Luna, and the others. 

I can save Hermione. 

_I can save my family_. 

Sweet, syrupy pancakes never tasted so delicious as they do at this moment. 

I finish up with my breakfast and head back to my room to get changed. There's jeans and robes intended for outdoor wear in my wardrobe. That is, robes that aren't soft and floofy with little yellow duckies all over them. 

I then head out of the school. Out onto the streets covered with faintly glowing cyan runes, underneath the swirling black and purple sky. There's no mistaking it. This could not be anywhere but Torn Elkandu, the center of the universe. I make my way down to the Nexus, to the connection to all worlds. Eight rune-covered obelisks standing in a circle, crackling with the power to send people almost anywhere in the multiverse. 

"Hello, Stormseeker," says the elven woman standing on duty at the Nexus. Keolah the Seeker. I remember her. I remember how, two years ago, she was supposed to contact me if she survived the attack, and never hearing a word from her, I had to assume the worst. Will she perish again, or will things go differently this time? "Looking to go somewhere today?" 

"Keolah," I say. "Sedder and his Dark Elkandu are planning to attack the Nexus today. I'm getting out of here. I just thought I should warn you. What you do with that information is up to you." 

"Very well," Keolah says, raising an eyebrow but otherwise taking the warning in stride. "Do you want me to calibrate the Nexus to a destination?" 

"I can handle it," I say. "I know where I'm going." 

Of course I'm going back to Wizarding Earth. I've only just begun to scratch the surface of my magical training there. And I have friends there that I want to see again. Not to mention, I have knowledge of the future that may make it possible to avert potential disasters before they even start. Oh, yes, I'm going back. I'm not nearly done with the place yet. 

I step into the Nexus, and bring firmly to mind the image of Hogsmeade. It's been a while since I've been there, but I remember it well enough. I remember staring off across the lake, standing absently on the shore and looking off at the castle in the distance, when Dumbledore approached me. That's where I'm going now. Back to that spot, to that moment, where I can make a difference. 

The glowing mists of the Nexus sweep me away to another world...


	26. Starting Over

There it is. Hogwarts. I'm really back here, on a warm summer day, not a cloud in the sky. 

I sit on the edge of the lake, gazing off at the sprawling magical castle that houses a school for witches and wizards. It's reassuring to see it again. For a moment there, a nagging thought in the back of my mind was almost afraid that the past two years had simply been just a dream. After all I've been through, after dying so many times, I really should be over that by now. No, it was no dream. It all really happened. And if I have any say in it, the worst of it will not happen again. 

I had hoped to be able to go back again, but never expected it to be like this. I'd hoped that I might one day learn to be able to control my power, and return to a specific day, or something. Perhaps I still might. But this will suffice. Sure, it'll take a lot of time, work, and patience to be able to get back to where I was, but that's alright. It's time that I can spend studying and learning, after all. I still have a lot to learn. 

In hindsight, I really needn't have been quite so quick to leave Torn Elkandu. After all, the attack won't take place for six hours. But, I suppose, I was eager to be back here and see it again with my own eyes. 

Why did I come back this far, this time? What happened differently from all those other times I died? Was it because of where I died, or the means by which I died? Come to think, I never died by the basilisk's gaze before, only its venom. Is there something special about its gaze that drove my power into knocking me so far back in time? I don't know that I really care to test it again, even if I could get back into the Chamber of Secrets in the first place. I just know that I certainly didn't do anything myself to change where it might send me. I don't know, but now I know that it's possible. And for now, that's enough. 

My mind spins, thinking back on everything that went wrong, all the mistakes I made along the way, everything that I could do differently this time around... It's enough to bring tears to my eyes. 

After relaxing for a bit, I stand up and stretch. Dumbledore didn't run into me at the lakeside until after the attack would have happened in Torn Elkandu, so I still have several hours before he's in that spot, if he even goes there. But I'm not Harry Potter right now, so perhaps it would be best if fewer people saw me. Not that the lack of a scar on my forehead would be all that hard to hide or anything, anyway, though. 

I'm overthinking things. It doesn't matter. I should just take a break, maybe take a nap, relax. It's a beautiful day. I've been through hell lately. I let out a deep sigh and sprawl out in the grass by the lake, and let my eyes slide shut. I'm so defenseless out here like this. What if someone comes along and kills me? Hah, what does it matter? At this moment in time, I have absolutely nothing to lose. 

The day drifts by, and I doze lightly, more peaceful and contented than I have been in a long time. After some time, I stir at the shifting breeze, and notice that Dumbledore is sitting in the grass nearby. 

"Enjoy your nap?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Ah, yes, sir," I reply. 

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Dumbledore says. 

"Yeah..." I say. "Dumbledore... I was hoping to speak with you." 

"Oh?" Dumbledore says. "Hmm, you look to be about the age to be starting at Hogwarts. Will you be joining us this coming year?" 

"Dumbledore, if I may, I'd like to speak with you in private, in your office, please," I say. 

Dumbledore looks into my eyes, and says, "Do you, now?" I can feel a light thrust of Legilimency tap against my shields, like a bug hitting a window. 

"Yes, sir," I say. "It's important." 

Dumbledore says, "Very well." 

He stands, and I follow him off into the nearby tavern, where we use the Floo to go straight to the Headmaster's office. Once on the other side, Dumbledore waves his wand at me, and suddenly, ropes spring out of nowhere and bind me in place. 

"Wait, what?" I say. "What are you doing?" 

"It's strange to see an Occlumens so young," Dumbledore says, looking at me pointedly. "Even I cannot penetrate your barriers. This could only mean one of two things. Either you have a natural talent for Occlumency, or you are not what you appear to be." 

"Wait, I can explain!" I say. 

"Who are you?" Dumbledore demands, pointing his wand at me. 

"My full name is Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer," I reply. "I am the heir of the house known as the Children of the Dragon's Blood. My title is the Stormseeker." He opens his mouth to respond to that, but I interrupt him. "I know about the prophecy already. I'm a time traveler." 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your words at face value right away. Why should I trust you?" 

I sigh. "I don't know what I can tell you to prove what I say. I could try to let down my barriers to let you in." 

Dumbledore shakes his head. "I do not know that you are not a skilled enough Occlumens to produce falsified thoughts for me to read. However, a Pensieve is more difficult to trick." 

"A Pensieve?" I repeat. 

"A device used for viewing memories," Dumbledore says, indicating a nearby basin. "They're very rare, but I have one available here. I find them most useful." 

"Alright," I say. "What do you want me to do?" 

Dumbledore puts his wand against my forehead. It's a rather uncomfortable feeling, really. "Focus on a memory that you want me to see. I will take it from your mind and put it into the Pensieve." 

"Um," I say. "Just to check, but will this just make a copy of the memory, or actually make me forget something?" 

"Just a copy," Dumbledore assures me. "You won't forget anything." 

"Alright, then," I say. I focus upon my first encounter with Dumbledore, there on the shore of the lake, two years ago. How he told me about the prophecy, about Harry Potter, and our scheme for me to take Harry's place. About discussing where I'm from, and my unique ability. We did actually discuss that, didn't we? Hopefully it'll be enough. 

Dumbledore pulls his wand away from my head, and a thin strand of silver appears between his wand and my skin, as though he's pulling something out. "Very well," Dumbledore says, dropping the silvery object into the basin. "Remain here. I will view this and return momentarily." 

"That's easy for you to say," I mutter. "I'm still tied up." 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle at me, and he puts his face into the basin and seems to... fall into it, and disappear. 

I guess when I came back, I just sort of assumed that Dumbledore would trust me right away again. It had slipped my mind that I had become rather good at Occlumency in the meantime. The barriers have just become so natural that I tend to forget about them now. 

After several long minutes of uncomfortable waiting, Dumbledore emerges from the Pensieve. "The memories appear genuine," he says. "I can understand my reasoning for doing as I did. However, I would like to see more of your memories before I do anything." 

"Of course," I say. "What would you like to see?" 

"Show me this world of yours," Dumbledore says. "And that attack you mentioned, about that Sedder fellow. And show me something from the future you experienced." 

"Alright," I say. First I focus on the memory of Sedder's attack so he can withdraw that, and then I give him the memory of speaking with him in front of the mirror of Erised. "Could you untie me, perhaps?" 

"Not just yet, I think," Dumbledore says. "Forgive me, but I would like you to remain there for at least an hour, in case you're using Polyjuice." Dumbledore vanishes into the Pensieve again to view the memories. 

Why did I bring up that memory, I wonder? I could tell him about any number of critical future events, and that's the first thing that comes to mind? Ah, well. Maybe it'll help him to trust me, at least. And untie me. These ropes are starting to chafe. 

It must be at least half an hour of waiting later before Dumbledore comes out again this time. "Very well," Dumbledore says. "I think I shall have to believe you. There were things in there that you could not have faked or known about otherwise." 

"So will you release me now?" I ask. 

"Five more minutes, boy," Dumbledore says. "Tell me, how far in the future did you see?" 

"Two years," I reply. Hmm, since I died in April, that means my temporal birthday will be in May now, rather than March. 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "And what are your intentions here?" 

"Well, I didn't exactly _plan_ to come back," I say. "I want to learn more about magic, for one thing. I didn't even manage to complete second year, after all. But I'd also like to try to avert some of the bad things that happened along the way, if I can." 

"Messing with the course of history could be a dangerous business," Dumbledore says. 

I make a face, and say, "I know! Merlin, I know..." I sigh heavily. 

Dumbledore examines my expression, and says, "I see. Well, if you understand the risks involved, I shall not attempt to dissuade you from that course of action. I will also not ask for any future information beyond that which you see fit to share with me. Much as a part of me would like to know everything, I understand that there may be things which I should not know yet for whatever reason." Dumbledore glances at the clock, and waves his wand at me, and the ropes restraining me vanish. "My apologies for that. I think I held you there a little longer than was strictly necessary, but I had to be certain." 

"I understand," I say, stretching a little. "So, are we going to be doing the same thing again? Do you want me to be Harry Potter, or attend school as myself?" 

"You spent two years as Harry Potter," Dumbledore says. "Did anyone ever suspect that you were not who you claimed to be?" 

"There were two people who realized it just from looking at me, and not because of anything I did," I say. "Ollivander, and Luna Lovegood. Neither of them compromised my cover. Luna proved to be a valuable ally, in fact." 

"I suppose I cannot argue with that mad plan working, then," Dumbledore says thoughtfully. "Are you willing to do it again, Lexen?" 

I give a nod. "Of course. I've spent the last two years being Harry Potter, after all." 

"I have to wonder what such long-term imitation of another would do to a young man's psyche," Dumbledore muses. 

"It's not like anyone actually _knew_ Harry Potter," I say. "What his personality would have been like or anything. I just behaved like myself and answered to a different name. It really wasn't a big deal." 

"This is true," Dumbledore says. "Very well. If you are certain of this, I shall make the necessary arrangements. But first, I'll need to duplicate that scar again. If you have any doubts about this, tell me now, because once I do this, you will be locked into this course for the remainder of your time in this world." 

"I'm certain," I say. "Go ahead." 

"Brace yourself, then," Dumbledore says. 

He aims his wand at me, and fires off a curse at my forehead. Burning agony rips through my body, and it feels like my head is about to split open and spill blood all over. I clench my teeth to try to keep from screaming. Did it hurt this much before? 

"Lexen?" Dumbledore says. "Are you alright?" 

I nod a little, and wish I hadn't. My head is spinning. "I'll be fine," I say. 

"I'm surprised that you didn't cry out," Dumbledore says. "Dark curses like that are usually quite painful." 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've died?" I say. 

"Ah, I see your point," Dumbledore says. "I'm sorry that one so young has to go through such things, though." 

"I'm used to it," I say. "I'll survive. I always do. One way or another." 

"I must go make the necessary arrangements now," Dumbledore says. "I'll need a bit of your blood for that, of course." I let him take a small amount of blood in a vial. "Feel free to look at the course books on that bookshelf, although I would request that you do not touch anything else in the room. Some of the things in here may be dangerous to the untrained hand." 

"Of course, sir," I say. "I'll just take a look at the third year course books." 

Dumbledore steps into the Floo and exits the office, leaving me alone with his phoenix and a stack of books. I don't really have time to go into detailed study of them right now, but I can get started with skimming the material and making note of what I might want to read further in depth in the near future. 

I'll be ahead in subject matter from the rest of my class, but will still need to attend classes and hold back a bit in some areas so that that does not become too obvious. I should be able to do the homework pretty quickly, though, so I ought to pick a field or two to read ahead in. Although, all things considered, that will probably have to be Defense. Even with Remus's tutoring and my own self-study, I'm still behind in that one from where I feel like I ought to be. 

All I have are my memories and skills. Knowledge of the future that I might be able to use in some way. In a way, I've really lost everything. And yet, considering how things fell into the Abyss, it doesn't really feel like a loss. Still, I must start over. I need to rebuild friendships all over again. But that's alright. I'd be a fool to complain about having a second chance. 

It's rather late before Dumbledore returns. I can't imagine what sort of arrangements must be necessary to make the magical community at large recognize me as Harry Potter, especially the vaults at Gringotts. I wonder if he tricked the goblins, bribed them, or merely came to an understanding about it. 

"Well, that went smoothly enough," Dumbledore says after stepping out of the Floo. "Magically, you are now recognized as being Harry Potter, and will have access to the Potter vaults. I trust that you will not abuse that privelege?" 

"Of course not," I reply. "Thank you, sir." I wonder if, one of these lifetimes, I can find out just what arrangements needed to be made, and be able to do them myself, so that I do not need to rely on Dumbledore for this. And then, of course, I'd have to Obliviate Dumbledore, too. Ah, a silly train of thought, although it amuses me. 

"Where will you be staying for the summer?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Hmm," I say. "Perhaps I should rent a room in Diagon Alley or something. It would be nice to have access to the resources there." 

"Yes, you could stay at the Leaky Cauldron," Dumbledore says. "Good idea." 

I look at him thoughtfully. He's very good at masking his emotions, but there's still an undertone that I can't mistake. "You don't really trust me fully yet, do you," I say. 

"I trust you because I must," Dumbledore says. "I have little choice in the matter." 

"There are always choices," I say. 

"Still, even if you are not truly Harry Potter, I trust that you will be able to play his part as well as he would," Dumbledore says. "And even if not... better still than having him not present at all." 

I give a nod. "If that's everything, then I suppose I'll get out of your hair and make arrangements with the Leaky Cauldron, then." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "Be certain to notify me if there are any issues or you have any questions. My office will always be open to you." 

"Thank you, sir," I say. I put the books I was looking at away, and step up to the fireplace. "The Leaky Cauldron!" I say, tossing in a bit of powder, and step into the green flames. 

I tumble head over heels out of the fireplace at the far end. I never did get used to Floo travel. But at least I got the right stop. I head over to the bar. 

The bartender takes a good look at me, his eyes resting on the curse scar on my forehead. "Well, I'll be. Is it really Harry Potter?" 

"That's right," I say. "I'm looking to stay here over the summer. Have you a room I can rent?" 

"Certainly," the bartender says. "It's ten sickles per night, or ten galleons per month, and it includes meals." 

"Alright," I say. "I need to make a quit stop to Gringotts, and I'll be back shortly." 

"Right then," the bartender says. "I'll have your room ready by the time you return." 

I head out to Diagon Alley, and make my way over to the bank. There's some other things I'd like to take care of here, but that can wait for tomorrow. Right now, I just want to get some pocket money. I head down to the Potter vault and withdraw around a hundred galleons, not even making a dent in the stacks of gold. That counts as pocket money, right? 

I return to the Leaky Cauldron, and count twenty galleons out to the bartender. He fishes around a bit, and pulls out a key and hands it to me. "Here you go. You're in room number nine. Let me know if you need anything. It's an honor to have you here, Mr. Potter." 

"Thanks," I say. I take the key from him and head upstairs. 

It's a comfortable room, more spacious than I would have expected. There's probably charms all over the place to make things bigger on the inside than they could possibly actually fit into the building. Even though I had a nap earlier, I'm still pretty tired. Worn out from everything, I suppose. I'll just get cleaned up, get something to eat, and then head for bed. I have a lot I want to do before school starts, and I aim to get started first thing in the morning. 

* * *

I wake to light streaming in through the window. It's morning in London, on my first full day back on Wizarding Earth. This will take a bit of adjusting, but all in all, my spirits are high. 

First, I go into a store that sells bags and luggage. These galleons are awfully heavy, and I'd rather not accidentally spill them or have someone steal them. I buy a bag that's enchanted to hold a large number of objects and reduce their weight. It's a bit expensive, but well worth the investment, I think. I've always wanted a bag of holding, but there are few Elkandu who can make them. 

My next stop today is Ollivander's. I'll feel a lot better once I have a wand in my hand again. I brush my hair across my forehead to hide the scar a bit. 

"Good day to you," Ollivander says. "And who might you be, young man?" 

"I'm Lexen Chelseer," I say. "I'll be attending Hogwarts this year." 

"Chelseer, hmm," Ollivander says. "I'm not familiar with that family. Are you Muggleborn?" 

"No, sir," I say. "Just foreign." 

"I see," Ollivander says. "Well, let's see if we can match you up with a suitable wand then, shall we?" 

I really don't want to go through this process again. "Pine and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches," I tell him. 

Ollivander raises an eyebrow at me. "Oh?" He shrugs and goes to pull out a box. "Let's try this one, then." 

That's my wand. I hold it in my left hand and give it a wave, and its magic seems to hum and click into place as a cascade of green sparks erupts from the end of the wand. It feels good to have my wand again. I dislike being unarmed. 

"A fine match for you," Ollivander says. "How did you know which wand would be the right one?" 

"I'm from the future," I say offhandedly, passing nine galleons over toward him. 

"I... see," Ollivander says. "Well, in that case, enjoy your new old wand, then..." 

"Thank you, sir," I say. "Do please keep that quiet, though, if you would." 

"Of course," Ollivander says. 

Next, I stop by the Eeylops Owl Emporium to pick up Solomon. The great gray owl is still there, as if waiting for me to come along. I take him back to my room so that I don't need to carry him around. 

I then make my way over to Gringotts. I approach one of the goblins on duty, who says, "What do you need?" 

"Just need to ask a few questions," I say. "About the laws regarding house-elves." 

The goblin looks at me distastefully. "What about them? Are you looking to buy one?" 

I shake my head. "Not at all. I'm hoping to help one who has been forced into servitude against his will." 

"There's nothing we can do about elves who have been born into slavery," the goblin replies. "The contracts entered into by their ancestors centuries ago sealed their fate." 

"This one was born free, however," I say. "And if any contract was made, it was done under duress, however he did not mention any sort of contract to me. He told me that he had been captured and bound against his will by wizards." 

"Is that so?" the goblin says, raising an eyebrow at me. "I don't see why a wizard is concerned about the welfare of elves, but if what you say is true, a great crime has been committed. Do you know where this elf is now?" 

"I believe he is currently in the custody of the Parkinson family," I say. "The elf's name is Rispy." 

"I'll send someone to look into the matter," the goblin says. "Wizards might let something like this slide without comment, but we goblins will not tolerate this sort of injustice." 

"That's why I came to you," I say. "I did not think wizards would be sympathetic to my concerns." 

"What's your name?" the goblin says. "I'll notify you with whatever comes of this." 

"Harry Potter," I reply. "I hope it goes well." 

A good start on today, but I'm not done yet. I head over to the bookstore next. I think I'll just buy a set of every book currently in use as course books at Hogwarts. 

"First year at Hogwarts?" says the young woman working in the bookstore at the moment. "I didn't think this year's book list had been released yet. And I don't think you'll need all of these right away, either." 

"That's alright," I say. "I like to read ahead." 

"Suit yourself," she says. "It's not like they're restricted or anything. The required course books sometimes change from year to year, though." 

"Yeah, I know," I say. "But the previous books might still have valuable information in them." 

"True enough, I suppose," she says. "Some of these are a bit pricey. You got enough on hand to cover them?" 

"Probably," I say. "If not, I'll just make another stop at my vault." 

I do have enough, so I pull out the galleons and count them out for her, and shove the entire set of books into my bag. That is _so_ convenient. I can't believe I didn't get one of these before. I wonder what the limit on it might be? 

Now, clothes. I'm not going to go two months without a change of clothes. I don't need to bother with school robes yet, but getting some different clothes to wear, and pajamas, would be a good idea. Once that's taken care of, I head back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. I can't help but think I'm forgetting about something important, however. 

In the Leaky Cauldron, I literally run into Quirrell. 

Oh, right. I had been so focused on the disastrous basilisk incident, and then getting myself set up in this world again, that I entirely forgot about him momentarily. I really ought to warn Dumbledore about him. 

"Harry P-Potter?" Quirrell says. "It's an honor to meet you--" 

"Hello," I say. "I'm sure it is, but I'm about to get lunch, as I'm hungry." 

"I'm P-Professor Quirrell. I'm looking to teach D-Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. I'll be your t-teacher." 

How could I forget how much I hated listening to him stutter? "You're welcome to join me for lunch if you like, but do try to relax," I say. "I'm not so terrifying that you need to stutter constantly in my presence, am I?" 

"S-Sorry," Quirrell says. 

I wonder if he's actually possessed by the Dark Lord just yet. Although I'm not exceptionally eager to go out of my way to save _him_ , I wonder just how complicit in this all Quirrell really was. One way or another, however, I do not want to spend the entire year hearing him stutter again. Once was enough. I'd rather have Lockhart again than that. But if I tip my hand too soon, the Dark Lord will realize that I know things that I really should not know. I have to be very, very careful how I use my future knowledge. 

So for now, I eat my lunch and give Quirrell no hint that I know anything is up. I will, however, need to speak with Dumbledore about this immediately. If he does the sensible thing, Quirrell won't be teaching this year at all. 

After lunch, once Quirrell leaves, I head over to the Floo. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" 

Dumbledore, for all his niggling distrust, really did mean it when he said his office was open to me. I can't imagine that just anyone could waltz in there, and yet the Floo has no problem letting me through. "Stormseeker," Dumbledore says upon my arrival. "Is there a problem?" 

"Dumbledore," I say. "I need to speak with you regarding your plans for this year. Are you aware of Quirrell's... change in allegience?" 

"I strongly suspected," Dumbledore says. 

"And why are you intending to keep the Philosopher's Stone at school?" I ask. 

"I should have expected that you would know about that," Dumbledore says, sighing. "Very well. Allow me to explain. The Philosopher's Stone is something that Voldemort will value highly. Hence, I hoped to use it to draw him out. I meant to lay a trap for him, if you would." 

"I see," I say. "The Dark Lord will be possessing Quirrell, though." 

"And he used that position to strike at the Stone, I take it?" Dumbledore asks. "I suppose that's one quick way into the castle." 

"He didn't try for the Stone until after exams at the end of the year," I say. 

"Really now?" Dumbledore says. "Most curious. This could work for me as well, however. If he is possessing Quirrell for the entire year, he isn't off causing trouble elsewhere or forming schemes that are more likely to help him." 

"But that'll mean that, for the entire year, we'll have an inept, useless teacher," I say. 

"Voldemort didn't fully possess him and teach the class himself?" Dumbledore says, raising an eyebrow. "How strange. Considering he applied for the position twice, I would have thought that he had some aspiration toward that himself." 

"If he _was_ controlling Quirrell the whole time, he was stuttering just as much and being less than brilliant the entire time," I say dryly. "A good cover, perhaps, but not a very good teacher." 

"We have had poor Defense teachers for many years now," Dumbledore says. "I would not expect that to change this year, or at all, until Voldemort is defeated." 

"Right..." I mutter. "He still managed to be better than Lockhart... but never mind that. So, let me get this straight. We're going to allow the Dark Lord to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, just to prevent him from getting into worse trouble in the meantime?" 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. 

I sigh. "Alright, fine, I can work with this, I suppose..." 

I feel like this is going to be a long year.


	27. Old and New Friends

A few days later, I wake to find Rispy waiting for me at the end of my bed. "Good morning, Harry Potter," Rispy says. "I wanted to thank you personally for sending the goblins to help me." 

"You're more than welcome, Rispy," I say. "I couldn't leave you in that situation." 

"I'm surprised that a wizard would help me," Rispy says. "But don't think this will make me trust any other wizard more easily. I have to ask, though. How did you know where to find me? How did you know I was even being held in slavery like that?" 

I know there will be consequences for this action. But for Rispy's sake, I'd say they're worth it. I could not, in good conscience, leave him enslaved, knowing that he was trapped like that against his will. 

"I overheard someone talking about you," I say. "Something about new elf blood. So I did some more checking and found out what really happened." 

"I see," Rispy says. "Well, in that case, I am in your debt. I owe you my freedom." 

"Enjoy it," I say. "And if you ever need anything, a place to hide, whatever, feel free to come to me." 

"For now, I think I'm just going to go home," Rispy says. "At least for a bit. Farewell, Harry Potter." 

"Farewell, Rispy," I say. With that, the elf vanishes. 

While I spend a lot of time in my room at the Leaky Cauldron, reading, I make sure to get out into Diagon Alley for a bit and browse every day. I'm not looking for things to buy, however. I'm primarily keeping an eye out for my future classmates. 

One day, I spot a family wearing Muggle clothes heading toward the alley. Upon closer inspection, I realize that the girl they are with is Hermione! Those must be her parents. They stare at the brick wall wondering how to get in. Someone must have forgotten that they'd need a wand to get inside, and that Hermione won't be able to get a wand until she's inside. 

"Hello," I say, approaching them. "Having trouble? Here, let me help you with that." I pull out my wand and tap the appropriate bricks, opening up the entrance into Diagon Alley. 

"Thank you, young man," says Hermione's mother. "This is our first time here." 

"I figured as much," I say, heading along with them as they go inside. "I'm Harry Potter," I say to Hermione. "Starting Hogwarts this year, too?" 

"That's right," she says. "I'm Hermione Granger. I was ever so surprised when Professor McGonagall came with my letter. Nobody in my family has ever had magic at all!" 

"Maybe they have and you just don't know about it," I say. "It could've been many generations ago." 

"Do you think so?" says Hermione's father. 

"Magic doesn't just spring up out of nowhere," I say. "But it can lay dormant for many generations." I glance around at the witches and wizards milling about Diagon Alley. "But my thoughts are probably in the minority around here. Don't let the opinions of small-minded people get to you too much. Whatever your ancestry, I'm certain that you will make a great witch one day." 

"There are people who would look down on our daughter?" the mother says. 

I shrug. "There's always going to be people who feel the need to put down others in order to make themselves feel more important. I just thought I should warn you. But don't worry. Not everyone is like that. I've got your back. I'll be your friend." I smile at Hermione, and give her a small bow. 

Hermione beams. "Really? I'd be happy to be your friend!" 

"Oh, that's so wonderful!" Mrs. Granger says. "You're such a charming and intelligent young man, and Hermione never had many friends at her old school." 

I accompany them around Diagon Alley as they get their money changed and pick up Hermione's books and school supplies. 

"What's down that way?" Hermione wonders, looking off to the darker side street. 

"Oh, that's Knockturn Alley," I say. "It's got places offering stuff that's pretty dangerous and questionable." 

"Ah," Mr. Granger says. "Perhaps not the best place for us to go, then." 

"Probably not," I agree. 

Hermione and her parents go home once they're done, and I bit them goodbye for now. That went well enough. I mentally make note of the date for future reference. Barring any interference, Hermione will visit Diagon Alley on July 24th. Planning ahead for contingencies that may or may not be necessary or useful? 

Neville shows up on the 30th. Ah, that would be his birthday. He's with his grandmother, who is wearing the most hideous hat I have ever seen, that looks as though it has a vulture sitting on top of it. I set my mind to fervently ignoring it, and go to greet them as they're picking up Neville's school books. 

"Hello," I say. "You going to Hogwarts this year, too?" 

"Yeah..." Neville says quietly. 

Augusta Longbottom peers at me intently, noticing the scar on my forehead. "Ah! You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" 

"That I am," I say. 

"I'm Augusta Longbottom, and this is my grandson, Neville." 

I give a bow toward them. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

"Hello," Neville says politely. 

"Are you here by yourself, Harry?" Augusta asks. 

"Yeah," I reply. "I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron over the summer." 

"Why would you do that?" Augusta says. "You could have stayed at the Longbottom house if you'd asked." 

"It's alright," I say. "I like being close to the shops and everything here. I grew up in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing like this anywhere near where I lived." 

"Why did they send you to the other side of the world?" Augusta says. "Unless I misjudge your accent, you were raised in the States?" 

"That's right," I say. "They said it was for my safety, I guess. I didn't exactly have much say in it. I was just a baby, after all." 

"And your foster family just let you come to England on your own?" Augusta asks. 

"It's... a long story," I say, sighing. "But I'm alright. I can take care of myself." 

I should probably have expected to be interrogated about it. At least I've thought enough about it in both visits to this world to be able to come up with some sort of answer. 

"So you say," Augusta says. "I still think you're entirely too young to be running around on your own, and your guardians are highly irresponsible for allowing you to do so." 

"Hey," I say, fixing a glare upon her. "Don't speak ill of my family." 

"Who sends a ten year old boy across the world by himself?" Augusta says. 

"They sent me to Dumbledore straight off," I say. "And he took care of my arrangements." 

"It just seems to me like they cast you out on your own," Augusta says. "Who are these people, anyway?" 

"They are _good people_ who just happen to live very far away from here," I say, grinding my teeth. "I would have dearly loved if they could have come with me. I'm sure my twin cousins would have loved to go to Hogwarts next year. But that just wasn't possible under the circumstances, alright?" 

"As you say," Augusta says. "Come, Neville. Let us go. We have much to do yet." 

Neville gives me an apologetic look as his grandmother practically drags him away. Well, that could have gone better. 

The next day is July 31st. Harry Potter's birthday. I don't know if I want to leave the Leaky Cauldron today, however. Draco Malfoy will be visiting Diagon Alley today, after all. Am I really that eager to meet him again? Well, I'm going to meet him whether I want to or not anyway, so it's just a matter of whether I want to meet him sooner rather than later. 

I'm just not sure if I'm ready to forgive him for things _he_ didn't really do. It's petty, I know. Still, I can't believe that an eleven-year-old is already a fundamentally bad person, however, no matter what kind of family he came from or how he was raised. 

No, that's not it. It's not a matter of forgiving _him_. It's a matter of forgiving _myself_ for murdering his parents. I do not believe it was a mistake. But it was still murder. Another world, another time, another life, but it's still a crime that weighs heavy on my soul. 

No, there's really no sense in putting this off. Draco will be either a valuable ally or a vicious enemy. I can hope that he might be able to be the former this time around. 

I head out to Diagon Alley to look for Draco. What time did I run into him in Madam Malkin's clothing store? I don't remember. It doesn't really matter, anyway. He'll be around, somewhere. I go over there to get fitted for my school robes myself. 

As I'm being worked on, sure enough there's Draco coming into the shop. "Hello," I say to him. "You starting at Hogwarts this year, as well?" 

"I am," Draco replies. "Do you know what house you're going to be in?" 

"Eh," I say. "They all have their good points. I'd be happy in any of them, but I'll probably be in Gryffindor, because I'm a reckless idiot that stupidly puts himself in harm's way for the sake of trying to help other people." 

Draco snickers in amusement. "Well, at least you admit it." 

"But I think I'm getting over that, so who knows?" I say. "It's not very healthy, and gets me in trouble sometimes." 

"I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin, myself," Draco says. "My whole family has been, after all." 

"Family is important, too," I say a little distantly. 

"You play Quidditch much?" Draco asks. 

"Nah," I reply. "I prefer dueling, myself." I grin a little as I think of Snape blasting Lockhart right off the stage with just a Disarming Charm. 

"Really?" Draco says. "That'd be great, too." 

The seamstress finishes up with us, and we turn to head out of the shop. As we step outside, Draco gets a better look at me and notices the scar on my forehead. 

"Wait, you're Harry Potter, aren't you!" Draco exclaims. 

"Heh," I say. "Yes, I am. And you're Draco Malfoy." 

"How'd you know that?" Draco asks. 

"Blond, Slytherin, impeccable fashion sense," I say. "Isn't it obvious?" 

"Well, when you put it that way..." Draco says, grinning. "I'm surprised, though. I didn't expect you to have an American accent..." 

"I was sent off to be raised by a wizard family in the States," I say, giving him the standard explanation. 

"So did they come with you to England?" Draco asks. 

I shake my head. "Nah. I'm on my own at the moment." I make a bit of a face. "I ran into Augusta Longbottom here yesterday, and she practically had a fit about that. I don't know about you, but I _like_ not having someone constantly looking over my shoulder telling me what to do or what not to do." 

"There's certainly a Gryffindor's lack of regard for authority," Draco says, though his grin dispels any malice in the words. "So what was this family who raised you like?" 

"It was a small rural community, and they were the only wizards around for miles," I say. "And they were a long line of purebloods who decided to relocate to the New World a few hundred years ago. Heh, they're also crazy. In a good way, I mean. My great-grandmother, Hawthorne, was an amazing duelist. I wish she could come and teach Defense at Hogwarts. I hear the Defense professors are almost always useless idiots." 

"That's what my father tells me, too," Draco says. "Don't expect to learn much of value from that class." 

"Too bad, that," I say. "I wonder if Dumbledore would let us start up a dueling club or something." 

"That would be an excellent idea," Draco says. "I should mention that to my father." 

It's funny, I spent two years in this world, and never once tried to go home. I always assumed the worst, but toward the end there, I think I didn't really have much left to lose, anyway. And then I think back on the Weasleys, and realize that I did, I really, really did. They were like a second family to me. Will I be able to regain that relationship again? 

"Father!" Draco calls out, practically dragging me along. "There's someone here you should meet." I didn't see when Lucius Malfoy showed up, and I find myself more than a little uneasy about encountering him again. 

"Hello, sir," I say nervously. "I'm Harry Potter." 

"Are you, now," Lucius says, looking at me coolly. "I am Lucius Malfoy." 

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," I say, giving him a polite bow. I've found that, while bowing seems to be uncommon in this world, it tends to give a good impression, especially toward purebloods. 

"I see someone has taught you manners, at least," Lucius says. "And yet you seem ready to jump out of your skin at the sight of me. What have they been telling you?" 

Crap, was it that obvious? It seems my feelings toward the Malfoys are strong and unsettling enough even to get past my Occlumency training. I quickly smooth my face. "My apologies, sir," I say. "No one has told me anything bad about you. I just didn't know what to expect. No disrespect intended, sir." 

"Is that so?" Lucius says. 

"He knew who I was right away," Draco says. 

"I see," Lucius says, looking at me piercingly. "Would you like to come along and have lunch with us, Mr. Potter?" 

"Yes, sir, I'd like that," I reply hesitantly. 

"Weren't we going to find a wand for me next, father?" Draco asks. 

"We can do that after lunch," Lucius says. "It would be rude to keep the young man waiting while you do that." 

"That's quite alright," I say. "I don't mind. I don't need to be anywhere today, anyway." 

"No, no," Lucius says. "We shall get lunch first, and then pick up Draco's wand." 

I can practically feel my self-control crumbling as I follow along after Lucius and Draco. They meet up with Narcissa and usher me along into an expensive-looking restaurant. A young woman shows us to a private table in a well-decorated room off to the side. It's very quiet in here, only the sound of light music can be heard. I assume that the place has wards over it to keep sound from going in or out. 

"So, Harry, are you excited about going to Hogwarts?" Narcissa asks me. 

"Yes, ma'am," I say, shifting uncomfortably. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have come out of my room today. I don't think I can handle this. 

"Harry suggested that we might be able to convince Dumbledore to let us start up a dueling club," Draco says. "What do you think, father? Might Dumbledore allow that?" 

"Hmm," Lucius says thoughtfully. "If he does not, I could pull a few strings myself to make it happen." 

"I'm sure Dumbledore will listen to me," I murmur. "Maybe." 

"You certainly have a lot of confidence in him," Lucius says dryly. 

The waitress comes in and brings us our salads before slipping away again out the silencing doorway. I have to twitch a little as I look at it. 

"Is there a problem, Harry?" Narcissa asks. 

"N-No, not at all," I stammer. 

Lucius starts putting dressing on his salad. My body is shaking. I feel ill. I might vomit right here at the table at this rate. 

"Harry?" Narcissa asks. I imagine her choking, slowly dying by the table. 

"Harry?" Draco repeats, frowning as he looks at me. I think of him never being able to return home to his mother... 

I fall out of my seat and curl up in a fetal positon half under the table. "I'm sorry!" I scream. 

"Harry, what's wrong?" Narcissa says, her shadow falling over me as she comes over to my side. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I cry, trembling and weeping. "Never again, never again, never again..." 

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Lucius says. 

I've really done it now. I just couldn't keep quiet and act normal, could I. Maybe I should owl Lockhart to come and Obliviate them later. No, no. This was my own fault. I mustn't keep trying to hide from or avoid the consequences of my own actions, good or ill. 

With a great effort, I climb to my feet again and drop heavily into my chair. "It's... a long story," I say quietly, trying to get some semblance of control over myself. The only thing that gives my mind any relief, however, is the thought of simply telling them everything. A confession to my own murder victims? Fine, if that's what it takes, then that's what I'll do. "I'll tell you all about it in a moment," I whisper. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I must center myself. I am the eye of the storm. I will control my emotions, not allow them to control me. I am in control. I will not lose control again. 

I hear the door, and open my eyes to see the waitress returning with bread and hot soup for us. Once she's gone again, I sigh and say, "Alright, I think I owe you an explanation." 

"Take your time, dear," Narcissa says. "Did something traumatic happen?" 

"I killed you," I say in a small voice. 

Lucius's spoon pauses in midair. "Come again?" he says. 

"I murdered you," I say, only a tiny bit louder. 

"Who? What?" Lucius says in confusion. 

"You and Narcissa," I say. 

Lucius frowns, looking between me and his wife. "I don't understand." 

"In the future," I say. "I've been to... the future... and _I killed you_." 

"Slow down, Harry," Narcissa says. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" 

I sigh, and say, "Yeah, I suppose that would be best. I'm not making much sense, am I. Alright, for starters... I'm a time traveler. I really shouldn't be telling you this, but damned if I'm going to make the same mistakes again, or let Dumbledore tell me what to do." 

"Is that how you knew who I was?" Draco asks. 

I nod. "Some bad things happened. A lot of bad things happened. And I murdered Lucius and Narcissa by having a house-elf give them poisoned salad dressing." My voice is hoarse, and I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the table. 

"I... see," Lucius says. "Might I ask _why_ you felt the need to murder us, then?" 

"You'd acquired a house-elf named Rispy," I reply. "A free-born elf who wanted vengeance upon you for abuse. So I helped him to get it." 

"You killed us... over a house-elf?" Lucius says incredulously. 

"It seems like a silly reason, I know," I say, sighing. "But it taught me a valuable lesson." 

"And what might that be?" Lucius asks. 

"I won't use poison ever again," I say. "If I want to murder someone, I'll do it to their damned face." 

"That's... perhaps not the sort of lesson that most people would take away from something like that..." Narcissa says. 

"What kind of a murderer am I if I can't look someone in the eyes right before I kill them?" I say. "I don't know how many people I saw die during my time in the future. But I'll take the blame for all of them. They were all my own damned fault. And that included too many friends and allies. That included dying way too many times myself. But I think it would be more useful to kill than to die." 

The room is silent but for the sound of soft classical music. No one seems to know what to say, and any eating has been put on hold for the moment. 

"That was really not how I intended this day to go," I murmur softly, and absently poke at my soup with a spoon. 

"What do you intend to do now, Harry Potter?" Lucius asks. 

"Make fewer mistakes," I say simply. "Protect my friends. Grow powerful. Live." 

"A worthy enough goal," Lucius says. "But who are your friends?" 

I snort softly. "That remains to be seen, this time around," I say. "Or are you asking which side I'm on?" I shake my head a bit. "I don't see sides. I see people. Perhaps things would be simpler if I could see the world in black and white." It's pretty easy to think someone is evil just because they abuse house-elves, though. 

"I see," Lucius says. 

"You have to understand, I spent the last year practically going insane and becoming suspicious of _everyone_ ," I say. "And people were dying, and I kept trying futilely to save them, and only wound up making things worse. One person died, and I went back in time to save him. Then a different person died instead, so I went back to try to save _her_... and then half the teachers at Hogwarts died plus both of the people I was trying to save, and I passed out at that point and couldn't save any of them..." I sigh. "Everything just fell apart. It was a disaster." 

"That must have been terrible for you," Narcissa says. 

"What on earth happened to cause such a thing?" Lucius asks. 

"You'll forgive me if I'd rather not give you the details of future events," I say. "I've already said too much. I don't want to inadvertently influence things in unintended ways." 

"And what of us?" Lucius says. 

"I considered having you Obliviated," I say. "Or even going back to this morning and erasing this day. But I won't. I made a mistake and lost control. I'll just have to deal with the consequences of that." I think if I did try to cover up this mistake, I might just wind up having the same reaction again at a later date. I can't have that. I need to face things rather than run away. 

The waitress comes in and brings us our actual meal. I'm calm again, and my stomach has settled by this point, although I have to wonder if I've killed the appetites of my companions with my morbid talk. 

"So," Lucius says thoughtfully. "You didn't kill us for being enemies, or Death Eaters, or political adversaries, or anything else... just for mistreating a house-elf?" 

"That's right," I say. 

"Perhaps we should consider being nicer to house-elves," Lucius says dryly. 

I smirk faintly. "Well, that _would_ help in me seeing you as friends rather than potential threats." 

"And what would you do if we convinced the other old pureblood families to be nicer to house-elves?" Lucius asks. 

"Then you'd be my new favorite people," I say seriously. 

Lucius chuckles softly. "Well, I think something can be arranged, certainly." 

"Are you saying that just because you're afraid I might try to murder you again?" I ask. "Or because you're trying to curry my favor?" He opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand. "Never mind, don't answer that. I really don't care." 

"As you say," Lucius says lightly. "So, if I might ask, do you have any other touchy issues that I ought to know about?" 

"I'll definitely kill anyone that attempts to Obliviate me," I say. 

"Understandable," Lucius says. 

"Seriously," I say. "I would rather be killed than Obliviated." 

Lucius raises an eyebrow. "I had thought you were exaggerating when you mentioned dying before." 

I shake my head. "Nope. It's complicated. But from my perspective, I'm effectively immortal. Whenever I die, I just go back in time instead." 

"How strange," Lucius says. "I've never heard of anything like that before. Then again, I've never heard of an infant surviving a Killing Curse, either. Perhaps it's a strange side effect from that." 

"Perhaps," I allow. Or perhaps not at all, seeing as I've never been hit with a Killing Curse at all, not being Harry Potter. But they don't need to know that. They already have one of my big secrets, that I didn't intend to be telling them today. They don't need to know the rest of it. 

"Is that all?" Lucius says. "No hangups about Muggles, Mudbloods, the Dark Arts, or any of that?" 

"No," I say. "Muggles are useless, Mudbloods are probably all just descended from Squibs anyway, and the Dark Arts could be pretty fun." 

Draco is snickering softly, and Lucius steeples his hands and says, "Well, in that case, I'm sure we can get along quite well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," I say.


	28. Old and New Enemies

On the morning of August 1st, Solomon brings me a package from the Malfoys. A book-shaped package, that when opened up, reveals itself to indeed be a book. The title seems innoccuous enough, but a closer look at the contents and the letter that came with it indicates that it's not quite so innoccuous. 

"Dear Harry, we were unaware that it was your birthday yesterday, so please forgive the late present. We hope this book is to your interest. I was not certain what previous experience you might have had with this sort of magic, so I chose something of an intermediate level. Enjoy it, and do let me know if you would like to see something more advanced sometime. Signed, your friends, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco." 

How nice! They sent me a book on the Dark Arts! And what's the first thing anyone does when they get a new toy for their birthday? They've got to try it out, of course! 

I flip through the book, looking at descriptions of interesting spells. Hexes, jinxes, and curses. I have no idea why some of these are even considered 'Dark', but who am I to argue? I've actually got a chance to play around with them now! 

Hmm, this spell looks interesting, and it doesn't require a target. The Dark Tendrils Curse, it's called. Looks a little complicated, but I think I can handle it. 

" _Tentacula Tenebrae!_ " I cast, waving my wand in the denoted movements. 

The effect is immediate. Half-substantial black tentacles spring forth out of nowhere, grasping at the air. They seem a little familiar. Oh, no. They remind me of Sedder. This was exactly the sort of spell Sedder used. This was what he used to kill me, to torture my cousins. I can't forget how they grabbed onto me, keeping me from fleeing, sucking the very life out of me... 

The dark tendrils suddenly latch onto me, and I drop my wand in surprise. What in the Abyss? It's not supposed to do this! This is my own spell! One of the tentacles coils around my neck, and I struggle in frantic terror trying to break free, or at least to grab my wand again. 

My head is spinning. My vision is darkening rapidly. I'm having trouble breathing. My fading thoughts muse that at least my death will cancel the spell. 

* * *

I wake with a groan. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best spell to try out. Note to self: The Dark Arts are not a toy. 

When Solomon delivers the book again this morning, I stuff it away in my bag of holding and just set about to writing a polite thank-you letter to the Malfoys, signing it with, "Your friend, Harry." I think I'll just stick to studying it for now, and be more careful about practicing it in the future. 

I've been skimming over the _Daily Prophet_ every morning since my return to this world, just to see if everything is going more or less the way it did last time. The edition from August 3rd is the first one that displays any significant difference. 

_MALFOY SPEAKS OUT FOR HOUSE-ELVES_ , reads the headline. 

By all the gods and demons, he actually _did it_? I'm positively stunned. I had half expected him to make promises he didn't intend to keep, and was gratified at him having made them anyway. But here he is, going on publicly about how the house-elves are the wizards' longest, most trusted servants, and that it's demeaning to mistreat them. How they should be honored and respected, even going so far as to propose a new holiday for house-elves. 

It's enough to bring tears to my eyes. The rational part of my mind tells me that he's just doing this to gain my favor. The emotional part replies that he's succeeding. 

So he also called up the name of Harry Potter on it. Harry Potter supports house-elves. Well, that's not so bad, I suppose. There are certainly worse issues to have one's name attached to. I'm just happy imagining the overwhelming joy of all the poor, abused house-elves in magical Britain. 

Once I manage to compose myself, I get out quill and parchment to send a letter to the Malfoys. "I just saw your article in the _Daily Prophet_ regarding house-elves," I write. "A most excellent statement, and I heartily approve. Do feel free to let me know if you ever want any official endorsements from the Boy-Who-Lived or anything. With love, your friend, Harry Potter." 

A pretty blanket offer, but I don't care. If some good comes of it, it's perfectly alright. I'm willing to give and take. I'm determined to try to leave this world, at least, a little better than it was when I came here. 

On the eighth of August, the Weasleys come to Diagon Alley. I can hardly contain my excitement when I see the cluster of familiar orange heads. This is a meeting I've been eagerly awaiting. 

I head along into the bookstore after them, ostensibly to buy something myself and run into them 'by chance'. They're looking over the used book section. 

"Alright, Percy's going to need this one and this one..." Molly is saying. 

"Oh, hello," I say casually. "Wow, how many of you are going to Hogwarts this year?" 

"Us four boys," Percy says absently. "Ginny's too young still. She'll be starting next year." 

The twins turn to take a look at me, and their eyes widen when they notice the scar on my forehead. "Merlin's beard!" Fred says. 

"It's Harry Potter!" George adds. 

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot lately," I say with a smirk. "Pleased to meet you, although I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." 

"Harry Potter," Molly repeats, turning to look at me critically. "I suppose you're here to be buying new school books, am I right?" 

"Not today," I say. "I'm just browsing a bit. I already bought the required books a while ago." 

"I see," Molly says coolly. What's with this attitude? I never saw her like this before. "Well, don't let me stop you, then." 

I frown. "Is there a problem?" 

"I don't want my children associating with the likes of you," Molly says. 

I reel as though I've just been slapped. "What?" I say dumbly. 

"You heard me," Molly says firmly. 

"I don't understand," I say. "Did I do something wrong?" 

"Are you completely unaware that Lucius Malfoy mentioned your name in the _Daily Prophet_ recently?" Molly says. "If he's been associating your name with his without your knowledge or permission, I would suggest taking him to task on the matter. He's been acting as though you're his biggest supporter." 

"Oh, that," I say. "If you're refering to the house-elf thing, I _do_ fully support it all the way." 

"So you _are_ his collaborator, then," Molly says. "Either that or he's tricked you into believing that he's a good person with his flowery intentions, all for the sake of using your name." 

"He didn't _trick_ me," I reply. 

"Oh, you're defending him now, are you?" Molly says. 

"I don't believe this," I say in exasperation at the Weasleys all glaring at me like I'm some kind of monster. 

"I bet he's going to wind up in Slytherin," Ron mutters. 

"Now, don't you have something you need to be doing, young man?" Molly says, looking to me pointedly. 

I set my jaw and put on a mask to bury my true feelings. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, ma'am," I say. "I was just trying to be friendly..." 

"Your problem is that you're too friendly with all of the wrong sorts of people," Molly says, gathering up the handful of used books that she's purchasing for her children and turning to walk away. 

Until I saw Molly Weasley's retreating back, I didn't really _feel_ just what I lost when I looked into the basilisk's eyes. 

It's going to be difficult being in Gryffindor if the Weasleys are going to be against me. How can I sleep in the same room with someone who doesn't trust me, and hence someone I cannot trust? Not to mention that I might wind up being a target for the twins' pranks. Perhaps I would be better off in one of the other houses after all. 

"Mum, maybe you were too harsh on Harry..." Ginny's voice speaks barely audibly. 

Maybe it's not too late to salvage my relationship with them. First impressions are important, but they aren't everything. Maybe if I'm in Gryffindor, and I can show them that I'm not a bad person, their opinion of me will change for the better. 

I can't believe that Molly Weasley would be so dead-set against me just from an article like that. It's helping house-elves, for Merlin's sake! How could she possibly think that that's a bad thing? Or has Lucius been saying something else about me? Name-dropping Harry Potter in front of the Ministry or something? 

I sigh softly and head back toward the Leaky Cauldron without even a second glance at the bookshelves or a backward look toward the Weasleys. What's done is done, and I'll just have to see where things go from here. 

* * *

The day after that, I receive an owl from Dumbledore requesting to speak with me whenever is convenient for me. I have a sinking feeling of dread about this. What if he's found out? What if he realizes that I told Lucius about the time travel thing? No, Lucius has no reason to tell Dumbledore about that. 

I head to the Floo and head over to "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" I tumble through, and once on the other side, I stand up and brush myself off. Damned Floo. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" 

"Ah, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "Come, sit down." Once I'm seated, he goes on. "I am, shall we say, concerned about your relationship with Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore says. "I fear that he may be using you to further his own status." 

"Not you, too," I say with a sigh, hoping that that's _all_ he knows about. "I know he's only interested in the advancement and protection of himself and his family. But I'm perfectly willing to go along with that if it furthers my own goals as well." 

"Yes, the house-elf situation was quite surprising," Dumbledore says. "I have no idea how you got him to agree to something like that. But do not think that he will remain your friend should circumstances change." 

"I'd be pretty shocked if he did," I say dryly. "Don't worry. I won't be taken by surprise by his potential and eventual betrayal. I'm not blindly eating off of his plate or anything." 

"Just so long as you're aware of that very real possibility," Dumbledore says. 

"Is that all you wanted to call me here for?" I ask. "I'm not stupid, and I'm certainly not _evil_ , if that's what you're afraid of." 

"I merely cannot help but be concerned when something like this comes to my attention," Dumbledore says. "You are aware that he was once Voldemort's right hand man, aren't you?" 

"So I've heard, yes," I say. 

"What do you think he will do when Voldemort returns?" Dumbledore says. "For instance, if he should find out that Voldemort himself is right inside Hogwarts' very walls, blithely teaching classes?" 

"I don't know," I say. "That's up to him to decide upon." 

"You may think that you've done a bit of good with the house-elf business," Dumbledore goes on. "But how quickly will that be dropped or forgotten should Voldemort come into power again? Ever will the old pureblood families gravitate toward their old ways." 

I really don't need to be pointlessly lectured like this, but I'm going to need Dumbledore's support if I want to maintain my guise as Harry Potter. I don't think he'd actually do it, but I could imagine someone trying to spin the idea that _I_ murdered Harry Potter and took his place. No, I need to stay on Dumbledore's good side. 

"I'm not about to sell out to the 'dark side' or anything, Headmaster," I say. "I assure you that my intentions are noble and I will watch my back. What more would you ask of me?" 

"I might ask that you consult me before doing things such as this in the future," Dumbledore says. 

So he wants to try and keep a closer rein upon me, is that it? "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I cannot owl you before everything I say in order to ask your permission in the midst of every conversation I might have." 

"I'm not asking that, Lexen--" 

I shake my head and put up a hand. "I may be from the future, but I cannot predict how every single conversation will go, Headmaster. That's why I need to be able to trust myself to think on my feet and respond appropriately to a rapidly changing situation as it arises. That's all anyone can ever do." 

"Of course, Lexen--" Dumbledore goes on. 

"I don't know how _this_ conversation might go, either," I say. "I know your personality and how you'll probably react to things, but I'm still risking alienating you in order to make certain that I've made my point. I don't like to do that, Dumbledore. I need to be able to trust you, and in order to do that, you need to be able to trust _me_. There can be no true alliance or friendship without trust." 

Dumbledore sighs softly. "I'm sorry, Lexen," he says. "I didn't mean to make you feel as though you were being backed into a corner. Of course you can trust me." 

"Can I?" I say. "Can I really? You're the one person in this world that I absolutely need to be able to trust completely. But in order to do that, you're going to _have_ to trust me to make my own decisions sometimes. I can't always consult you about everything. I can promise that I _will_ discuss things with you if I have the time and opportunity to do so. But that's simply not always possible." 

"I understand what you're saying, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "But for one so young..." 

"Don't think of me as a child," I say. "It doesn't matter how old my body is, or how many chronological years I've seen. I've been forced into situations that no child should have to deal with, and I've had to adapt." I look at the floor and sigh heavily, suddenly feeling much smaller than I even am. "And if I can only ever really rely upon myself," I say softly, "what do you think that's going to do to me?" 

"Oh, Lexen," Dumbledore says. He comes over to me and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. I didn't realize until he touched me that I've been trembling and tears stinging at my eyes. 

"Fuck," I murmur softly, and bury my face into his chest, tears running down my cheeks. "I know I can only ever really rely on myself as it is. I can only go back alone, after all." 

"But you don't always have to be alone when you arrive," Dumbledore says gently. "Would you like a sherbet lemon?" 

"Yes, please," I mutter. 

Dumbledore hands me some candy, and I suck on it and curl up in my chair again, wiping my eyes. It's not enough to repair everything, however. I know that, no matter what, I'm never going to be able to fully trust this Dumbledore. Not this time. 

Who can I trust? I certainly can't really trust Draco. Snape's being kept in the dark this time, even though I trusted him more than Dumbledore last time. Ron and Neville, I'm not entirely certain if they will even be able to be friends this time, and I couldn't even trust them with my secrets last time either. Maybe Hermione. I'll have to see about that one. 

I'm starting to seriously consider owling Lockhart. 

* * *

Midway through August, I inadvertently run into Quirrell again in the Leaky Cauldron. Literally, almost knocking his Dark Lord-concealing turban off his head in the process, completely by accident. Damn it, I'd been kind of wanting to avoid him until school started at least. 

"Excuse me," I say, straightening my robes. 

"P-Potter!" Quirrel says. 

"Sorry," I say. "Didn't see you there." Although how I managed to miss him with the hideous purple _thing_ on his head is anyone's guess. 

"I was hoping to sp-speak with you again," Quirrell says. 

"If you can do it without stuttering, I'll be happy to listen," I reply dryly. I'd be more polite about it if I thought the stutter was a genuine problem and not an affectation put on to make himself seem harmless. After seeing him suddenly able to speak properly _and_ use competent wandless magic, I'm not fooled. I just wish that this year's Defense class could be taught by _that_ Quirrell rather than the useless one I'd had before. 

"Sorry, I'll try," Quirrell says. "You have to understand, I had a rather unsettling experience during my recent sabbatical in Albania, you see, and it's left me a little unnerved, you know?" He switched from stuttering to babbling. Well, I can handle that. 

"Of course, I understand," I tell him reassuringly. "Why don't we grab a table and have some lunch, Professor? I'd love to have a chance to talk to you, actually. I'm very much looking forward to your class, after all." 

"Really?" Quirrell says, going to sit down at a table and take up my offer of lunch. 

"Oh, yes," I say. "It's my favorite subject, but when I ran into you before and heard you all stuttering, I was afraid that you were the sort of person who would jump at their own shadow, faint at the sight of a troll, and drop their wand when trying to cast a simple _Expelliarmus_." 

"I would never," Quirrell assures me. "I'm quite good with trolls, actually." 

"I'm sure you'll make for a great teacher," I say. "Just relax and _show_ some of that talent you've got! You certainly don't need to be afraid of eleven year old children." 

"Of course not," Quirrell says. 

"I'm really excited about the class," I say. "I've already read up quite a bit on combat charms and hexes. And dueling is my favorite sport, too. I was hoping that Dumbledore might let me set up a dueling club, but I forgot to ask him when I last saw him." 

"Really," Quirrell says, hardly managing to get in a word edgewise. 

"But dueling isn't like real combat, I know," I babble on. "Dueling has rules and all, after all. But it's still exciting. It really gets the blood pumping, don't you think?" 

"Oh, yes," Quirrell agrees offhandedly. 

"I'm really looking forward to learning some of the more powerful offensive curses," I go on. "Although I've only ever actually read about them, you know, I've never actually seen the demonstrated before. I don't know why so much fun-sounding stuff is considered 'Dark' and all, it seems rather silly to me. Oh, but you're teaching _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts. Silly name for a class, if you ask me. As if the Dark Arts were the only thing you ever needed to defend against. And I always figured that the best defense is a good offense." 

"Potter," Quirrell says pointedly to get my attention. 

"Wha?" I ask. 

"Your soup is here," Quirrell says. 

"Oh, sorry, didn't notice," I say, picking up my spoon and starting to eat. 

"Do you always talk this much?" Quirrell asks. 

"No," I say. "I'm just excited. Sorry if I was babbling a bit." 

"That's quite alright, Potter," Quirrell says. 

So, here I am, cheerfully having lunch with the Dark Lord and pretending that I don't know who he really is. And all the while, expressing genuine enthusiasm about the subject matter that I just wish he'd teach properly. I'm not getting my hopes up, though. I'd already settled myself on the thought that all of this year's classes would be worthless, anyway, and that I'd advance by self-study. I've already been through all of the material they're going to cover, anyway. 

"I hate to be disappointed," I mutter. If I'm not expecting anything positive to happen, I won't be disappointed. 

"Well, I'll have to be certain to arrange a curriculum that won't disappoint you, Potter," Quirrell says thoughtfully. 

"If you disappoint me, I'll kill you," I tell him. 

Quirrell stares at me, raising an eyebrow. 

"If you don't disappoint me, I might not kill you," I say, grinning. 

"Eleven year old boys should not joke about killing people," Quirrell says. 

"What makes you think I was joking?" I say, my grin broadening. 

Quirrell peers into my eyes, and I feel a thrust of Legilimency smack up against my barriers. He frowns a little at that, and I just continue to look him in the eyes, never letting my grin falter for a moment. I'm very grateful for those mental shields, but I wish I were skilled enough to make it less obvious that I'm keeping people out. 

"You are a most intriguing young man, Potter," Quirrell says. 

"Thank you," I reply. 

I finish my lunch, and we bid one another farewell. I head out to take a stroll through Diagon Alley and muse on the encounter. At least I managed to avoid spilling any big secrets that I did not intend to this time. Bad enough that Lucius knows, I don't need the Dark Lord himself realizing that I'm a time traveler, too. Sure, Lucius might still tell him, but I doubt that he knows that the Dark Lord is currently possessing the Hogwarts Defense professor, of all people. 

I sigh inwardly. Well, there's no use worrying too much about it right now. What will happen, will happen. The worst thing anyone might do to me is Obliviate me. Anything short of that, I can deal with. It doesn't matter how many times I might die. I'll survive.


	29. Year One, Take Two

The morning of September 1st dawns bright and hopeful. I've collected all my school supplies by this point, so now it's just time to go and board the train and get this school year started. I make sure everything is packed and take the Leaky Cauldron's Floo over to King's Cross Station. 

I board the train early and grab an empty compartment. Whoever wants to sit with me can do so. Let's see who actually wants to be friends with me this term. I refuse to be bothered by this. It doesn't really matter, does it? I think I'm just trying to reassure myself. It's not really working, though. I curl up in the back of the compartment and stare out the window at the platform, watching students and their families milling about in preparation for boarding. 

I'm distracted and don't notice when someone comes into the compartment and sits down. "It doesn't look good for you to sit all by yourself, Potter," says Draco. "Someone might think you were being antisocial. Or worse, that you'd been shunned, or something." 

I snort softly and turn to look. "Hello, Draco," I say, rubbing my eyes. "And I'm not antisocial. I think _some_ are shunning me, though." 

"Who?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"The Weasleys," I say. 

"Oh, _them_ ," Draco says. "Well, you don't need to associate with _their_ sort, anyway. Some wizarding families are better than others, you know." 

I shrug a bit. "It's probably just as well, I suppose," I say. "I didn't exactly want to be spending holidays at their barn, anyway." 

"Hah," Draco says. He glances out to the corridor, and says, "Ah, there's Crabbe and Goyle. In here, you two!" 

The two oafish boys come into the compartment and take a seat. "Who's this, boss?" Crabbe says. Or possibly Goyle. Damn, am I going to have to learn to tell those two apart? Alright, I'll just do what I do with the twins and randomly assign them names mentally. They don't look identical, but I really don't _care_ which is which. 

"That, you fool, is Harry Potter," Draco says. "Don't forget it. And unless I explicitly tell you otherwise, you will treat him with respect and do _nothing_ to annoy him. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, boss," Crabbe says. The two of them start looking at me as though I'm a snake that might suddenly strike at any moment. 

"So, how'd you like the book we sent you, Potter?" Draco asks. "My father wasn't sure if you might already know all the spells in there already." 

"Do call me, Harry, please," I say. "People I don't like call me Potter." 

"Sorry," Draco says hurriedly. "Harry." 

"And no, a lot of that is new to me, so thanks," I say. I can't exactly blame the Malfoys on getting me killed there. That was my own damned fault for being unable to properly control the spell. 

"I'm just surprised that you think you're going to be in Gryffindor, of all things," Draco says. 

I shrug. "What can I say? As I said earlier, I'm a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation. I could almost guarantee I won't survive all seven years at Hogwarts. I'll probably wind up doing something stupid trying to save somebody -- maybe even _you_." 

"I don't know if I'd want to be betting on my impending death," Draco says. 

"I don't bet," I say. "I don't believe in luck. Chance is never on my side. If I want anything to go right, I need to make sure of it myself." 

"Well, I suppose that's a sensible attitude," Draco says. 

I'm certain that, after that inadvertent display before, Draco must think that I'm a dangerous thing, possibly crazy. Which kind of makes me wonder if he would be entirely wrong in thinking that. And yet a part of me thinks that I'm not yet dangerous _enough_. 

We're on our way to Hogwarts now. Soon enough, the door to the corridor opens and Hermione pokes her head in. "Have any of you seen a toad?" Hermione says. "Neville has misplaced his." 

I have to restrain the urge to hug Hermione the minute I see her. "Hello, Hermione. No sign of any toads around here, except possibly Crabbe and Goyle here," I reply offhandedly with a small grin. "Why don't you ask one of the prefects? They probably know a spell that can help." 

"Oh, that's a good idea," Hermione says. "I'll try that, thank you!" She runs off again. 

"Friend of yours?" Draco asks. 

"Yeah," I say. "That's a Mudblood named Hermione Granger." 

"You're friends with Mudbloods?" Draco asks. 

"I'd rather hang around smart Mudbloods than stupid purebloods, honestly," I say. "And she's likely to be the top of our year." 

Draco stares at me as though I've just said something strange. "How could a Mudblood be that good?" 

"Probably secretly Ravenclaw's heir or something," I say, shrugging. 

"But... she's a Mudblood," Draco says. "Her parents are Muggles." 

"Muggles don't have any magic," I say. "Magic doesn't just come from nowhere. If the pureblood families didn't keep tossing their Squibs out into the Muggle world, there wouldn't be so many Mudbloods." 

Draco blinks for a moment. "I never thought about it that way. But they're obviously not as good as us, right?" 

"You realize 'they' includes my mother, don't you?" I point out. 

"Oh, right," Draco says. "I forgot about that." 

"Personally, I'm of the opinion that magical blood should be kept in the magical community," I say. "None of this breeding with Muggles or casting out Squibs, and bring in any Mudbloods that pop up. We don't need Muggles." 

"I suppose there's a point to that," Draco admits. "But still, you say that Granger girl is your friend? I don't know if I could be _friends_ with a Mudblood." 

"Could you be friends with Ravenclaw's secret heir?" I ask. 

"Well, sure, of course," Draco says. "Wait, you aren't suggesting that she actually _is_ , are you? You don't _know_ something about that, do you?" 

I smirk. "She could be," I say lightly. "That's all I'll say on the matter." 

"You... just... argh!" Draco says. 

We finally arrive at Hogsmeade Station and disembark from the train, and I join the other first years in riding the boats across the lake to the castle. For all I've done this before and seen Hogwarts plenty of times before, the view is still pretty impressive. All those spiring towers rising up majestically over the sparkling lake. 

We're ushered inside, and I roll my eyes a little as the eleven year olds around me start to speculate if they have to wrestle a troll. I don't really care to correct them. They'll find out for themselves soon enough. We then head in for the Sorting ceremony. 

I watch the Sorting attentively, keeping an eye out for any changes, but everything's going just as I expect it to. This one to Hufflepuff, that one to Ravenclaw... Hermione Granger to Gryffindor. 

"Gryffindor?" Draco murmurs. "I thought you said she was _smart_." 

"She is," I say quietly. "You'll see what I mean about that." 

Neville gets Gryffindor, Draco gets Slytherin of course, and "Potter, Harry!" gets called up to the front. I stride forward to the stool and toss the hat onto my head. 

"Hello there, Lexen," the hat whispers into my head. "My, my, you really have been through a lot, haven't you." 

"You could say that," I reply silently. "So where are you going to put me this time?" 

"Personally, I'd recommend avoiding this school entirely and just seeking professional help for your post-traumatic stress disorder," the Sorting Hat tells me. 

"Huh?" I think. 

"But never mind that," the Sorting Hat says. "You won't do that. But could I at least recommend going to Hufflepuff? You'll find lots of supportive friends there, which you sorely need at the moment." 

"You want to send me to Hufflepuff?" I think dubiously. 

"If not that, then perhaps Ravenclaw?" the hat suggests. "They won't even mind if you spend most of your free time holed away with your books. No? What about Slytherin, then? They look after their own." 

"Are you trying to discourage me from going to Gryffindor?" I ask. 

"Gryffindor might not be the best idea for you, under the circumstances," the hat says. "But if you insist upon it, I will send you there." 

"Which house actually fits me, though?" I wonder. 

"I'll stand by what I told you in that other life. You'd fit well into any of the houses. You have traits of all of them. That makes you very flexible and open-minded. You could be anyone and do anything, Stormseeker. It all comes down to your own choices." 

"Well, I want to go to Gryffindor again," I tell the hat. 

"Very well," the hat murmurs, almost seeming to sigh a little at me. "It may not be what's best for you, but if that is your own choice, then so be it. Let's send you to GRYFFINDOR!" 

I slip the hat off my head and go over to take a seat by Hermione and Neville. The table seems a little less enthusiastic to have me around than last time, and I'm sure it's not just my imagination. I kind of have to wonder if the Sorting Hat was right, but I stand by my decision. Although I wonder what in the Abyss "post-traumatic stress disorder" might be. 

"Hello, all," I say brightly. Hide my concerns behind mental barriers and put on a cheerful mask. 

"Hello," Neville says nervously. 

"Oh, Neville, did you find your toad?" I ask. 

"Yeah, he's right here," Neville says. 

"Percy knew a spell that brought him straight in," Hermione says, beaming. "I'm going to have to learn that one." 

"Me, too," I say. "Sounds useful. What was it?" 

"I believe it was ' _Accio_ '..." Hermione says. 

"Yes, it was," Percy tells her. "It's a fourth year charm, though. You might not be able to do it yet." 

"Hmm, oh well," Hermione says. "I'll look it up anyway." 

I make a mental note to look that one up myself. That's closer to the level I'm at right now, and it definitely sounds like a useful spell to know. 

Once the new students are all sorted, Dumbledore stands up and says, "I'd like to welcome you all to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin, I have a few words that I would like to say to you all today: Blather! Rutabaga! Cuckoo! Fork!" 

Seamus says softly, "I say, is he quite mad?" 

I snicker softly. "I think he's brilliant." 

* * *

I have trouble sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory. There's charms to block out Ron's snoring, but I can't quite shake the feeling of distrust. I find myself tossing and turning for hours before finally drifting off into sleep. And that's when the nightmares hit me. 

_I'm running through the Hogwarts corridors. It's chasing me, but I can't look back. I'll die if I look behind me. I just have to keep running. I come to a staircase, trip, stumble, falling end over end. At the bottom, I land in a pile of bodies. Everyone I ever knew is laying dead around me, their eyes frozen open, but without a mark on them._

I sit bolt upright in a cold sweat, panting. This is no good. At this rate, I might need Wideye Potion just to get through my first day of classes. But no, I can't do that. I don't have access to Snape's stores anymore. Snape isn't on my side this time. A Dreamless Sleep Potion would be nice at the moment, too, for that matter. I sigh and curl up again to try to sleep. 

Classes start up in the morning, ready to teach me things that I already know. I just take them as an opportunity to practice my spells and keep in top form, and get better at them, while doing some self-study. But I don't want to neglect interacting with my classmates. At least most of them aren't as bad as the Weasleys, but there's still some distrust among some of them. What did Lucius Malfoy _say_ about me? Oh well. 

It's just as well that I already know the material, considering I'm half asleep the entire day and my reaction time is pretty slow. It gets to the point where McGonagall approaches me during Transfiguration class. "You're quite the Transfiguration prodigy, Mr. Potter, just like your father," she tells me quietly. "You could do this lesson in your sleep. Which is good, because it seems like you're mostly asleep at the moment." 

"Huh?" I say drowsily. 

"Did you not sleep well last night, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asks. 

"Oh," I say. "Sorry, ma'am. It's just, I'm not used to sleeping in a room with other people. I could shut out the noises, but I couldn't forget they were _there_ , if you know what I mean." 

"Ah," McGonagall says. "Quite understandable. You're not the first one to have that problem." 

"I'll get used to it in time," I assure her. "It won't be a problem, ma'am." 

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "But if you do continue to have problems, please come to see me or visit the hospital wing." 

"Thank you, ma'am," I say. 

I look down at the needle on my desk, which had formerly been a matchstick. I'm the only one that's managed to perform this spell so far. I'd been intending on trying to hold back in class, but perhaps it's just as well that I can turn matchsticks into needles in my sleep by this point. Who knows what stupid mistakes I might make when trying to do magic while tired? 

If I'm going to be exhausted my entire first week of school, at least I can take a nap during History of Magic. I find the soothing drone of Professor Binns' voice to be quite relaxing. Maybe I can even get away with napping during Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. 

I'm in for quite a surprise when I step into the first Defense class of the year, however. The heavy smell of garlic that pervaded the classroom during the previous loop is gone, for starters, and there are a number of practice dummies arranged along the far wall. Quirrell gives me a long, odd look as I come in and take my seat along with the rest of the class. 

"Welcome, students, to my class, which has been so foolishly termed 'Defense Against the Dark Arts'," Quirrell says. What, no stuttering? "This is a naive view, and I will tell you why. The Dark Arts are not a force to be feared. They are a weapon, nothing more. A weapon is nothing without those who wield it." 

"So, it's wizards who wield the Dark Arts that we should be wary of?" Seamus says. 

"No," Quirrell goes on. "It is a weapon, yes, but it is not the only weapon in existence. Yes, those who wield the Dark Arts can make dangerous adversaries, if you should become their enemies. But are there not also spells which are not considered Dark that could be used to harm someone? Should you not be able to defend against those as well?" 

"That's true," Hermione says. "Even some of the first-year spells could hurt someone if used in the wrong way." 

"Or the right way," Quirrell counters. "And what of magical beasts? Some dark creatures are dangerous, yes, but some are not. And plenty of non-dark creatures can be dangerous as well. And then there are Muggles. Many wizards make the mistake of thinking them harmless just because they don't have magic. But do not let your guard down around them. They have their own weapons just as dangerous as magic. The only saving grace is that, unlike wizards, not every Muggle carries around a deadly weapon on their person." 

I sit at my desk, staring at Quirrell, positively stunned. What happened to cause such a change? Was it my conversation with him? I can't imagine how that might have made a difference. I'm very confused. Do I have wrackspurts in my head? 

"Now, today, I will be starting you off with a simple, utilitarian spell," Quirrell says. "It's called the Knockback Jinx, and the incantation is _Flipendo_. Allow me to demonstrate." Quirrell aims his wand at one of the practice dummies, and says, " _Flipendo!_ " A bolt of blue light shoots out of the end of the wand and strikes the dummy, sending it flying backwards. 

Is this the Dark Lord actually teaching this class rather than Quirrell himself? I couldn't say. The class gets up to start practicing the spell themselves. It's an easy spell for me, but after what happened in Transfiguration, I don't want to appear overcompetent. I stand in front of one of the dummies, looking deep in thought and concentration, but don't actually cast the spell. 

"Potter," Quirrell says, approaching me. "Do you not wish to cast the spell?" 

"Er..." I say. 

"You haven't even tried to cast it yet," Quirrell says. "Why don't you show us how it's done, then?" 

So much for not drawing attention to myself. Fine, so be it then. Ignoring my unintended audience, I aim my wand at the dummy and incant, " _Flipendo!_ " The blue bolt knocks into my dummy, sending it flying nearly as far back as Quirrell's. Many of my classmates had barely gotten their dummies to budge. 

"Ah, very good, Potter," Quirrell says. "Five points to Gryffindor for that demonstration. See, class? Potter displays an innate measure of talent with this jinx." He looks me over thoughtfully, and adds more quietly, "Perhaps your magical core is inherently attuned toward Dark Magic." 

"What does that mean, sir?" I ask hesitantly. 

"Do you have an easier time casting jinxes, hexes, and curses than other spells?" Quirrell says. "And at a greater than usual power level?" 

"I can usually cast them on the first try," I admit. 

"And the same is not true with charms?" Quirrell asks. 

I shake my head. "Charms usually take me several tries before I can get them to work. But I'm good with Transfiguration, too." 

"Transfiguration doesn't count," Quirrell says. "That's unaligned magic. Charms are Light Magic, so there you have it, then. It's likely that you would make for a fine dark wizard." 

That's all well and good, but I wish he hadn't said something like that aloud in the middle of class. Gryffindor is distrustful enough of me at the moment as it is. Although if it's true, that might help to explain why I've had little success in getting the Patronus Charm to work. I really ought to start practicing that again. I shouldn't use my current general emotional state as an excuse for that. Maybe practicing thinking happy thoughts would help with that instead. 

I try to get a better night of sleep in preparation for the first Potions class of the year, as difficult as it is to sleep in a room where there are people who seem to hate me for no good reason. Potions is one class that could be seriously problematic if any mistakes are made. Speaking of which. 

"Looks like we've got Potions today," I say at breakfast. 

"With Slytherin," Neville says with distaste. "This is going to be awful." 

"You don't think you'll be good with Potions, Neville?" Hermione says. "It doesn't sound so bad to me." 

"It's going to be a disaster, I just know it," Neville says. 

"If you're worried about it, Neville, why don't you pair up with Hermione for it?" I suggest. "That might help to mitigate any more explosive potential." 

"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione says. 

"Well, if you didn't mind, I suppose that might help..." Neville says. 

"Of course I don't mind," Hermione assures him. "But who would be your partner, Harry? I'd thought you would want to pair up with me yourself." 

I wave my hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. I'll probably just ask Draco or something." 

Seamus casts a nasty look at me at the mention of that, and mutters something about, "Dark wizard in training... should've been in Slytherin." 

In Potions class, Snape gives me a long, nasty look as well as he's checking attendance. "I see our resident celebrity is present today," Snape says in a droll manner, and then proceeds to launch into a speech about brewing fame, bottling glory, curing indigestion, whatever it was. I'm not really paying attention to it very much. "Potter!" he snaps at me. 

"Yes, sir?" I say, returning my attention to where I am and what I'm doing. 

"What would you have if you combined powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asks. 

"Huh?" I say dumbly. I'm definitely not prepared for a surprise quiz today. I try to wrack my brain to see if I can recall ever having seen mention of a potion like this in the first and second year texts, but I'm coming up with a blank. "Er, sorry, sir, I don't know the answer to that." 

"Hmm, fame isn't everything, so it would seem," Snape says. "How about another question? Where would you obtain a bezoar, and what is it used for?" 

What the hell? As sleepy as I am, I'm pretty sure that I'd remember it if I'd ever run across mention of this. "I don't know, sir," I answer, frowning a little. Maybe I just haven't been paying enough attention to the material. It's not like I ever gave enough due to Potions. 

"I see," Snape says. "Could you tell me what the difference is between monkshood and wolfsbane?" 

I feel like I _should_ know this one, but maybe there's wrackspurts flitting around in my brain at the moment. "Sorry, sir," I say, shaking my head. 

"A pity," Snape says. "It seems that you have little appreciation for the delicate and precise art of potion making. For your reference, asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and can cure most poisons--" 

At this point, I scrabble to pull out my quill to write this down, but wind up dropping it and having to pick it up off the floor. 

"--and monkshood and wolfsbane are different names for the same plant, which is also called aconite," Snape finishes. He glares down at me fumbling with the quill, and says, "If you are having such difficulties with writing implements, I fear what you will do with a cauldron." 

"Sorry, sir," I murmur, righting myself in my seat and going to hurriedly write down the information for future reference. I definitely want to see about obtaining some bezoars and carrying them around with me at all times. 

When we go to pair up for working on our Boil-Curing Potions, Neville teams up with Hermione as I'd suggested. Ron hooks up with Seamus, which is just as well as I didn't want to get stuck with either of them anyway. I go over toward Draco and ask, "Hey, Draco. You want to be my partner?" 

"Sure," Draco says. As I take a seat next to him and we get started on our potion, he says in a low voice, "I hope you're not always that clumsy. You do the chopping and I'll put in the ingredients, if that's going to be the case." 

"I'm just tired," I reply quietly. "I haven't been sleeping well." 

"Why don't you ask Professor Snape for a potion to help with that?" Draco asks. 

I look at him as though he's said something crazy. "I don't care to be poisoned. He obviously hates me, didn't you see?" 

"Hmm, point," Draco says. He whispers, "Those questions were obviously above our level. Good on you for keeping your cover and claiming not to know the answers." More loudly, he says, "Why've you been having trouble sleeping?" 

"My dormmates," I reply, glancing around toward Ron and Seamus uneasily. "I don't trust them. I keep being subconsciously afraid they might do something to me in my sleep, I guess." 

"Ah," Draco says, "Yeah, I can understand that. I wouldn't want to share a room with Gryffindors, either. I told you that you should have been in Slytherin. Nobody would dare do anything like that in _our_ house." 

"I'll survive," I murmur. 

"You're a wreck and you're driving yourself insane," Draco says. "You're going to either need to get over your issues with your roommates, find someplace else to sleep, or learn a protective charm that you can cast over your bed while you sleep." 

Snape, obviously noticing us whispering and muttering a lot to one another, comes over to our table. "Malfoy. Potter. How is your potion coming?" 

"Quite well, Professor," Draco says, carefully dropping in the next ingredient and showing him that it's finished up the proper color. 

"Good," Snape says, examining it closely and nodding. "Five points to Slytherin for your perfectly brewed potion." 

"Harry helped with it, too," Draco says. 

"I really don't care about house points," I put in, then add more quietly, "In fact, I wouldn't mind terribly much if you took away points from Gryffindor just to spite the others for being assholes." 

"Five points from Gryffindor for your language, Potter," Snape says offhandedly, although his lips twitch into what might be a smirk. 

Draco snickers in amusement as Snape walks away to check on the other students. "You know, Harry," he murmurs. "I was a bit concerned when my father ordered me to make absolutely sure to be friends with you. I thought it was going to be difficult, you know, what with your self-proclaimed Gryffindor tendancies. But you keep this up, and I might just not completely hate being your friend." 

I have to laugh aloud at that, earning some more offhanded glares from some of the Gryffindors in the room. Just for that, when they're not looking, I flick a snake fang into Seamus and Ron's cauldron. It immediately fumes and fizzes, turning a sickly shade of green, before boiling over. 

"Can't you dunderheads do even such a simple potion properly?" Snape says in irritation. "Five points from Gryffindor." 

"It wasn't our fault!" Ron says, putting his hands in the air frantically to avoid touching any of the faulty potion. "One of the Slytherins tossed something into our cauldron!" 

"And another five points from Gryffindor for giving false accusations toward my students," Snape says, waving his wand and vanishing their potion. 

As Snape walks away, Seamus mutters, "Bloody Snape. Always favoring the Slytherins." 

I grin broadly at Draco and say quietly, "You know, I think I might actually have some fun this year. Say, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a protective charm to cast over my bed at night, by chance, would you?" 

"Not offhand," Draco says. "But why don't you ask Ravenclaw's secret heir?" 

"Good idea," I say. "If she doesn't already know one, I'd imagine that she could find one quick enough."


	30. Bed Curtains and Broomsticks

I wake up on Saturday morning, and as I'm getting out of bed, the curtains around my bed attack me. "Gah!" I cry, trying to batter them off and reach for my wand. There it is -- " _Finite Incantatem!_ " It takes a couple tries, but the curtains return to normal. 

Ron and Seamus are snickering. Neville looks as though he wants to ask me if I'm alright, but one look at the others and he closes his mouth again and looks at the floor. Dean just looks a little embarrassed. 

"Alright, who in the Abyss jinxed my bed curtains?" I demand. 

"Wasn't me," Dean says. 

"I'd've probably set them on fire if I'd tried," Neville points out. 

"I _wish_ I had," Ron says, still snickering. "That was a riot." Seamus nods in agreement. 

In that case, it was probably the Weasley twins who did it. They must have snuck into our dorm in the middle of the night just for that. Damn it. Like I don't have enough problems as it is. It's high time that I did something about this. I get dressed and head down to the common room. Sure enough, Hermione is already there, doing a little reading before breakfast. I head over to her table and sit down next to her. 

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione says. "Um... I'm sorry about yesterday. What Snape did to you was awful. I really should have tried harder to get his attention." 

"It's not your fault, Hermione," I say. "It's Snape's fault. I'm just glad that _you_ , of all people, haven't been making a big deal over me just because I'm Harry Potter, never mind all this nonsense lately about me being a dark wizard. Thanks for being my friend, Hermione." 

Hermione blushes a bit at that. " _I_ know that you're a good person, Harry, no matter what anyone else thinks." 

"Someone jinxed my bed curtains this morning," I say, sighing. "I don't suppose you happen know any protective charms or the like that I could cast? I really hate having to worry about being safe at night in my own dorm." 

"Oh, Harry," Hermione says. "Alright, after breakfast, we'll see if we can find you something that might help." 

Following breakfast, the two of us reconvene in my dorm. The other boys are thankfully more interested in playing Exploding Snap in the common room at the moment, so we have the place to ourselves for now. 

"I don't remember seeing any spells that might do the trick in the first or second year books," I say. "So why don't we start with third year and work our way up?" 

Hermione's eyes widen as I pull books out of my bag of holding. "You bought all of the upper level books too? And where did you get a bag like that?" 

"Diagon Alley, and yeah," I say, chuckling. "You're not the only one who reads ahead." I grin at her. 

"Wow," Hermione says. "I knew you were good in class, but I didn't realize you'd gone _this_ far. Most of you who were raised by wizards seem to take magic for granted and treat the classes as a chore." 

"More the fools they, I say," I reply. 

We skim through the books looking for a spell that might do the trick. But everything we come across either doesn't really help, or I can't manage to cast anyway. The Intruder Charm might be nice, but it's in the seventh-year book and way beyond my level. 

That doesn't stop me from trying to cast it anyway. On the third attempt, I manage to miscast it really badly. There's an ear-splitting shrieking sound, and I clutch my ears reflexively. Suddenly, the sound stops, and there's blood running through my fingers. Shit, that's not good. Hermione is bleeding from the ears, her mouth making screaming movements, but I can't hear anything. 

I fumble with my wand. " _Fin-- Fini..._ , d-damn it..." 

The world goes dark. 

* * *

I wake up to find myself staring at the ceiling in the hospital wing. Well, it appears that I didn't die after all. That's unfortunate. Fortunately, however, I can hear again. 

"Here, drink this, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey says, putting a potion to my lips. I'm not about to argue at the moment, and swallow the bitter liquid. 

"Madam Pomfrey. Is Hermione okay?" I ask. 

"She'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey assures me. "You're both fortunate that Mr. Longbottom found you when he did." 

Professor McGonagall is probably going to lecture us about this. That's the trouble with not dying. You have to endure lectures instead. 

"When will we be able to leave?" I ask. 

"If it were up to me, I'd keep you here for the rest of the weekend," Madam Pomfrey says. "But seeing as you're alright now, I see no reason to keep you here any longer. Run along, now. I'm sure your friends are worried about you." 

Hermione is already awake as well, and heading out of the hospital wing. "Harry--" she begins. 

"I'm sorry about that, Hermione," I say quietly. "That was definitely my fault, and now we're probably going to get in trouble for it." 

"Don't worry about that," Hermione says. "At least we're alright. Let's get back to Gryffindor Tower." 

Neville is waiting for us in the common room, looking worried. "There you are!" Neville breathes when he sees us. "You're alright!" 

"We're fine now," I say. "Thanks, Neville." He comes along with us as we head back up to the dorm. "I hope you didn't get caught in that spell, too." 

Neville shakes his head. "Whatever it was you were trying to cast had already canceled by the time I came in. I just saw the two of you laying on the floor, bleeding..." He looks a little pale at that. "Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey didn't even ask any questions when Dean and I brought you in." 

Back in the dorm, my books are scattered about the floor right where we'd left them. I don't bother putting them away yet. I just take a seat in the middle of them and lean back against my bedpost with a sigh. 

"You didn't tell Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asks. 

Neville shakes his head. "It was an accident, right? It's not like you were actually doing anything wrong. At least, I don't think you were. What _were_ you trying to do, anyway?" 

"I wanted to cast an Intruder Charm on my bed," I say. "But, as you can see, it backfired." 

"Oh," Neville says. "Because of the curtain incident, right? That's understandable. I wouldn't want anyone messing with _my_ stuff or doing anything to _me_ while I'm asleep. That's just mean." 

I glance at the time. We lost a few hours in the hospital wing, and it's almost lunch now. I grab my books and stuff them back into my bag, and tuck it away. "I'm starting to think that we're not going to find a charm that'll do what I want, which I am actually capable of casting at this point." 

"You know, I could talk to them," Neville says. "Try to get them to leave you alone and all..." 

I shake my head. "I'd rather you not get involved, Neville. They might decide to tar you with the same brush as they have me, and I don't want to see _you_ getting hurt because of me." 

"Why don't we look some more after lunch?" Hermione suggests. "There might be something we missed. Or... or... maybe we could check out something besides the charms. Maybe there's a jinx you could put on it to discourage tampering. You did say you were better with jinxes, right?" 

"That's true," I say. "I didn't think of that." I give her a reassuring smile. 

After lunch, when we reconvene in the dormitory, Neville joins us this time. "Maybe there's something in the Defense books?" Neville suggests. 

"Alright, let's look there, first," I say, pulling out a handful of books. I definitely did not waste the Potters' money on Gilderoy Lockhart's books. 

We sift through the books, discarding anything that sounds too dangerous. The Intruder Charm didn't sound dangerous, and look what happened with that? Who knows what would happen with something that actually _does_ sound dangerous? Eventually, while Hermione and Neville are looking through my upper grade Defense books, I pull out the one the Malfoys sent me for my birthday. 

Hermione looks over at what I've got. "That one doesn't look like it's on the Hogwarts curriculum." 

"It's not," I say. "I got it for my birthday." 

After looking through that one, I come upon one that sounds perfect for what I have in mind. The Revulsion Curse, it's called. It won't actually hurt anyone, but if someone who doesn't know the passcode tries to get through, it will fill them with an overwhelming sense of dread until they move away. 

I show it to Hermione, and she nods. "That sounds like it would do the trick." 

"I'll try it out," I say, pulling out my wand and pointing it to my bed. The wand movements are a little complicated, so I'm very careful about getting them right. " _Locus Timoris!_ " A faint dark aura surrounds the piece of furniture for a moment. "Did that work?" 

"Let's find out," Hermione says, approaching the bed. She reaches out to touch it and freezes in place for a moment before backing away quickly. "It worked," she says, wide-eyed. 

I give a nod. "Excellent," I say, smiling. "Thank you. I trust you two, so the password I'll use is ' _Stormseeker'_. You can come and wake me if there's an emergency or something." 

The book notes that someone with enough willpower, or a skilled Occlumens, can simply ignore this sort of protection. But against prankster schoolboys, it should be more than sufficient. I'll probably have to recast it every night before bed, but that's alright. If it will let me sleep without fear of anything happening, it's worth it. 

That evening, I've set aside some time to work on the Patronus Charm. I've already gotten my homework done, so now it's time to try to work on something much more difficult. Thinking happy thoughts. 

I think of seeing Hermione again, alive and well, brightly smiling with her family as she explores Diagon Alley for the first time. _(I imagine Hermione, dead in the restroom, her body broken by a troll's club.)_

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Nothing happens. 

This was always my problem before. I can't shake the negative side of things. Well, how about _this_ one, then? I bring to mind the memory of waking up and realizing that I was back in Torn Elkandu. The thought that I would be able to start over and save everyone. _The taste of pancakes._

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " This time, light bursts from the end of my wand unsteadily. It doesn't last for long, and I doubt it would drive anything off, but it's progress at least. 

"What are you doing, Harry?" Neville asks from behind me. I didn't notice him enter the dorm. 

"Oh, hello, Neville," I say. "I'm practicing the Patronus Charm." 

"What's that?" Neville asks. "Isn't that, like, really advanced magic or something?" 

I nod. "It's really hard for me to cast, but at least it's safe. It's not something that could blow up in my face if I don't cast it right." 

"What does it do?" Neville asks. 

"It makes an animal of light," I say. "That can protect against certain dark creatures." 

"Wow," Neville says. "So you really _aren't_ a dark wizard in training. Not that I _really_ thought that, but, you know how it goes..." 

I chuckle softly. "I don't really care about that, Neville. I am who I am, and nothing anyone says is going to change that." I smirk faintly. "It's true that I'm better with curses, though. But I'm not going to let that stop me from learning any other sorts of magic I want to as well. I'll just have to keep at it." 

"You're already way better at magic than I'll ever hope to be," Neville says a little dejectedly. "I'm almost a Squib, after all." 

"You are not," I say. "You'll be as good of a wizard as you make yourself. Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise." 

"You really think so?" Neville says. 

I nod. "Absolutely. I'm as good as I am because I pushed myself to be. Because I've taken a lot of risks. Because I'm stubborn and refuse to give up or back down just because something is _hard_." 

"But... what if I don't?" Neville says. "What if I can't do it?" 

"It doesn't matter," I say. "You'd still be my friend, even if you _were_ a Squib." 

"You really mean that?" Neville says, eyes widening. 

"Of course," I assure him. 

"Thank you..." Neville says. "The way Gran was talking about how you'd thrown in your lot with the likes of the Malfoys, I was kind of afraid you might hate me..." 

I snort softly. "Neville, I don't hate Crabbe and Goyle, and you've a hundred times their worth, in my eyes. Why would I hate _you_?" 

Neville beams at me. "That... really means a lot to me..." 

I look at Neville's smiling face and wave my wand. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," I say. A few faintly glowing sparks fall from the end of the wand for a moment before vanishing. Ah, well. "I don't think I'm going to get this one tonight." 

"You'll get it eventually," Neville says. "I'm sure of it." 

* * *

At our next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Quirrell asks me to stay after class to speak with me. I'm more than a little nervous about this. Am I in trouble? What does he intend? 

"Potter," Quirrell says. "Have a seat." 

I sit down. "What's this about, Professor?" 

"Frankly, I think this class is wasted on you," Quirrell says. "You're so far above the rest of your class that it's sad, really." 

I've obviously completely failed at holding myself back well enough. Has it been this obvious to all of the teachers? Sure, I'm only two years ahead, but I still know way more than someone in their second week of school should know. 

"I say your natural talents should be cultivated," Quirrell goes on. "Perhaps set aside some time each week for private lessons. What say you, Potter?" 

My heart leaps in excitement despite myself. I have to remind myself, this is a man possessed by the Dark Lord. Who knows what his agenda might be? Still, if I can learn something about magic in the process, I'd say it's worth the risk. "I would be honored, Professor," I say. 

"Would you, now?" Quirrell says, raising an eyebrow at me and smirking faintly. 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'd be happy to learn anything you have to teach." 

"Anything?" Quirrell repeats. "There are some curses that can be quite useful that I'm certain you would be good at, but some would deride them for being too 'dark' to be taught in school. Would you be happy to learn those, as well?" 

"Of course," I say, smirking myself. "I'm not going to turn my nose up at a piece of magic just because of another's opinions of it." 

"Good," Quirrell says, grinning. "I'm glad to see that you're open-minded, Potter. You could go far indeed with that sort of attitude." 

"The other students might get suspicious if they knew you're teaching me private lessons, though," I say. "Perhaps it would be best to play them off as detentions instead." 

Quirrell chuckles softly. "Keep a low profile and let no one know what you're truly capable of? That might be wise, yes." He glances at the clock. "Best run along now, or you'll be late for your next class. Come to my office after lunch on Sunday." 

"Yes, sir," I say, and head off. 

I wonder what he's playing at. Why would the Dark Lord want to give me extra lessons? Have I been assuming something incorrectly? When I think about it for a moment, the answer is obvious. You don't arm your enemies. He wants me on _his_ side. But I know who he is, and I'm not going to fall for it. That doesn't mean I can't take whatever he has to teach me anyway, though. 

* * *

The time for the first years' flying lessons arrives. I'm still not very good at flying on a broom, but at least I'm competent enough that I'm not likely to fall off and break my neck on my first attempt. 

"I've never been on a broom before," Neville is saying nervously. "My Gran wouldn't let me near them." 

"Relax, Neville," I say. "Just do exactly what Madam Hooch says and you'll be fine." 

"But what if I fall off?" Neville says. 

"I'll catch you," I say, grinning at him reassuringly. 

The lesson starts. Neville still manages to fall off his broom, a little later than the last time. " _Spongify!_ " I cast at the ground. Neville makes a soft whump as he hits the ground like a pillow. I fly down next to him. "You alright, Neville?" 

"I'm fine," Neville says. "Nothing broken or anything. Thanks, Harry." 

"Five points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch says. "You alright to get back in the air, Mr. Longbottom?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Neville says. 

Maybe this will help avoid any silly incidents with Draco and Neville's ball thing, whatever it was. 

At dinner, however, Draco comes by the Gryffindor table, tossing about a shiny little ball. "Hey, Longbottom. Look what I've got." 

"Oh, hello, Draco," I say. "Neville lost that thing? Good job on finding it. We might never have found it otherwise." 

Neville looks at Draco uneasily. "My Gran gave that to me," he says. 

Draco glances from Neville to me, and I give him a pointed look. "Right," he says. "I'm sure you don't really need it, though." 

"Could you please give it back, anyway, Malfoy?" Neville says. 

"Yeah, what are friends for?" I say. "I'm glad to have both of you as my friend." 

"Yeah," Draco says. "Yeah. I just came here to return it." He tosses the glass ball back to Neville absently. 

"Why don't you stay a bit and have dinner with us, Draco?" I suggest. 

"No way," Ron says, butting in. "We don't need any _Slytherins_ at our table." 

"If you like them so much, why don't _you_ go eat with them, instead?" Seamus says. 

With that, Ron and Seamus yank me away from the table. "Hey, watch it!" I exclaim. 

"What are you doing?" Neville says. 

"We don't need any dark wizards in training at our table!" Ron says. 

Percy is nearby, but he seems to be pretending not to see this. I climb to my feet and straighten my robes. 

"I say you're all a bunch of fools for not wanting Harry Potter," Draco says. "But if you don't want him, we'll certainly take him." 

"Hey!" Neville says. "Harry is my friend! If he's not welcome here, then I don't want to be here, either!" 

"Same for me," Hermione says, standing up and getting to my side. 

"Neville..." Ron says. 

"I've had enough of this crap," Neville says. "You're always so mean to Harry, when he hasn't done a single thing to warrant it." 

"What's going on here?" says another prefect, approaching. I don't know her name. I think she's a seventh year. 

"Ron and Seamus threw Harry off the table," Hermione says. 

"Neville, Hermione," I say. "Why don't we go eat dinner with Draco, and let them cool down a bit?" 

Ron says, "Cool down!? You--" 

"I don't care if you like Harry Potter or not, but I won't tolerate this sort of behavior in _my_ house," the prefect says. "I'm reporting the both of you to Professor McGonagall." 

"I... But... Sorry," Ron says sheepishly. 

I smirk and turn to head away from the table. I don't care to deal with this at the moment. Neville, Hermione, and Draco follow along after me, and the four of us take a seat at the Slytherin table for tonight. After seeing the incident from across the Great Hall, they're fairly welcoming of me. 

"What's that Mudblood doing at our table?" one older Slytherin boy asks. 

"We're eating with Mudbloods now?" says another. "Really, Malfoy?" 

"No," Draco says. "We're eating with Ravenclaw's secret heir. Now shut up." 

As we start to eat, Hermione leans over to Draco and says quietly, "What did you call me?" 

"Shh," Draco says. "Sorry if I blew your cover." 

"But I'm not... at least, I don't _think_ so... well, I suppose anything is _possible_..." Hermione says. 

"It wouldn't be a secret if you knew about it, would it?" I say, grinning at her. 

"I guess not," Hermione says, frowning a little. 

"Is it just me, or is the food over here tastier than the stuff at the Gryffindor table?" I wonder. 

"And we have the best desserts," Draco says. 

"So, Potter," one boy asks me, I think his name is Theodore Nott. "Are you planning to become the next Dark Lord?" 

"Call me Harry, please," I say. "Unless you want me to mentally associate you with strangers and people I'd rather not speak to." 

"Why's that?" Blaise Zabini asks. 

I shrug. "The village I grew up in was pretty small," I say. "Almost all the wizards there had the same last name anyway. So we always went by first names among ourselves." 

"I see," Theodore says. "But you still didn't answer the question." He smirks at me. 

"I'm not _planning_ on taking over the world, if that's what you mean," I say. "I've got better things to do than that." 

"Like what?" Blaise asks. 

"Learning everything I can and attaining godlike power, for starters," I reply. "And there's a couple people that I'd like to kill, too." 

"Why are you not in Slytherin?" Draco says. 

"Because that's all for the sake of protecting my family and friends," I say, grabbing a drumstick and chomping on it. "So. Do you guys want to be my friends?" 

"Sure," Blaise says. 

"I can't believe you're still sleeping in the same room as those fools," Draco says. "Did you find that charm you were looking for?" 

I shake my head. "No, couldn't find any charms that I could cast. But I put a Revulsion Curse over my bed, and that seems to have discouraged them. Thanks for that, by the way." 

"You can cast a Revulsion Curse?" Crabbe says, looking a little impressed. 

"Well, yeah," I say. "Worked fine on my first try." 

"Merlin, Quirrell's right," Goyle says. "You really are a natural dark wizard." 

Draco seems less impressed. "He's got extra practice, you know," he says. "It's not like he cast his first spells last month, anymore than I did." 

"I can't believe I'm eating at the Slytherin table," Neville murmurs. 

"That a problem, Longbottom?" Draco says. 

"I just didn't expect you all to be so... well, normal," Neville says. 

"Normality is relative," I say, chuckling. "I'd say that _I'm_ about the furthest thing from 'normal' around here." 

"I'll vouch for that," Draco says.


	31. Midnight Ritual

"It's a rare opportunity that I get the chance to teach one of such talent as yourself, Potter," Quirrell says. 

I haven't bothered to ask Quirrell to call me Harry, even though we spend a fair amount of time alone together each week. He is not my friend, no matter how much he flatters me. He's merely an enemy that I'm exploiting for my own benefit. 

"What will you be teaching me today?" I ask. 

"So eager to learn, and we've barely gotten started," Quirrell says. "I think we'll be doing something a little different today." 

"What's that?" I wonder. 

"I'm not certain that you're ready for this, however," Quirrell says. "It may be a bit beyond where you are right now." 

"I'm not one to shy away from risks," I say. 

"Ah, but are you willing to risk your very life for the sake of gaining power, young Potter?" Quirrell asks. 

I look at him as though he's said something stupid. "Yes." 

Quirrell grins. "In a few days will be the night on which dark magic is most powerful. In this day and age, it's known as Halloween, and foolishly celebrated with candy and treats." 

"Do you intend to do something on Halloween this year, then?" I wonder. 

"Oh, no," Quirrell says. "I'm suggesting that it would be a perfect opportunity to test your budding talents." 

"I see," I say, frowning thoughtfully. "What would you have me do?" I'm a little wary about this whole business, but what's the worst thing that could happen? I die horribly? Big deal. The potential benefits outweight the risks, in my eyes. 

"Just a simple ritual," Quirrell says. "But there are preparations that must be made, and it must be performed during the hour of midnight." 

"And what does this ritual do?" I ask. 

"It would help to attune your magic," Quirrell explains. "It would declare you to the magic of the world as a dark wizard, and allow you to cast spells of that nature more easily and powerfully." Quirrell shakes his head. "But I doubt you are ready for that sort of commitment. It takes a strong will and dedication to be capable of taking the necessary steps toward the attainment of true power." 

"Wait," I say. "Isn't my magic already tuned toward dark?" 

"You have the inborn potential, yes, but you have yet to make any clear choice or declaration either way," Quirrell says. "Tell me, what magic comes to you most easily? When you have performed accidental magic, what comes out?" 

"Lightning," I reply without hesitation. 

"Most interesting," Quirrell says thoughtfully. "Definitely a form of clearly dark magic, though. Why don't you cast a Lightning Curse for me to demonstrate?" He shows me the wand movements, and casts at a dummy, " _Fulgoris!_ " A simple bolt of lightning cracks across the air and into his target. 

"Alright," I say. I pull out my wand and mimic his movements, although I don't really feel they're necessary, and exclaim, " _Fulgoris!_ " I push all my power into the spell, and the blue electricity splits the air with a thunderous clap. My target is knocked into the far wall, and several other dummies have been knocked over as well, and Professor Quirrell stumbles back and steadies himself on a desk. 

"Impressive," Quirrell says. "You are a very powerful wizard, young Potter, but you lack control, precision, and experience." 

"I've never actually cast that verbally before," I say. "It has only ever come out on its own when I'm angry and really want to hurt someone." 

"Understandable," Quirrell says. "Magic is fueled by emotions, after all, and this form of magic is powered by anger, hate, bloodlust." 

"I wasn't really angry when I cast it just then, though," I say. 

"It was _that strong_ while you were calm?" Quirrell asks. "I'd like to see the result if you were actually angry." 

"Well, alright, if you want," I say. "But I'd rather not hurt _you_ at the moment." 

" _Protego Maxima_ ," Quirrell murmurs, and a shield shimmers into existence around him. "Proceed, if you think you can do it." 

I look at the target dummy on the ground before me. I imagine it as Sedder, laying on the ground in a black cloak. The man who killed me, who killed my family, who set me on this course of hate and fear. I don't know who I might have been if I had been allowed to grow up normally, without being horribly killed and forced into this course, and I will never know now. He killed me gleefully, cheerfully tortured my cousins to death, and shattered my hopes for the future into unrecognizable pieces. When I see him again, I want to be powerful, I want to be strong, I want to _destroy him utterly_. 

" _FULGORIS!_ " 

_CRACK-a-DOOM!_. Electricity rips through my body like I'm channeling the power of the storm myself. I'm blinded by the blast and knocked off my feet. Such pain. I can't see. I can't hear. I can't move. Too much. I feel drained. Just... let me... rest... 

* * *

I wake for a moment. So tired. Bah, it's a weekend. I can afford to sleep in. I roll over and go back to sleep. 

* * *

I wake again. I'm in the Gryffindor dorm, and the sun is already high in the sky. It looks like I've missed breakfast, but I might still be able to catch lunch. I get up and get dressed, still feeling tired, however. 

What happened? I was practicing the Lightning Curse with Quirrell. And it looks like I managed to kill myself with it. Wonderful. I guess I must have really, seriously, overpowered the spell or something. 

I wonder if I managed to kill Quirrell in the process. 

I shrug and head down for lunch. 

"There you are, Harry," Neville says. "You really slept in today." 

"You must have been tired," Hermione says. 

Ron and Seamus stubbornly do their best to pretend that I don't exist. They've been doing that ever since last month's incident. After McGonagall gave them detentions for it, they haven't given me any trouble, at least. 

"Still am," I reply. "I'm glad we don't have any classes today. I don't think I could even cast a _Lumos_ at the moment." 

That evening, back in Quirrell's lessons again, I listen to him rambling on about Halloween, almost nodding off in the process. 

"Potter, are you listening to me?" Quirrell says. 

"Sorry," I say. "I'm just tired." 

"Why are you so tired?" Quirrell asks. 

I shrug vaguely. I'm certainly not going to tell _him_ why. 

"No matter," Quirrell says. "Can you tell me what sort of magic comes to you most naturally?" 

"Lightning," I reply thickly. 

"Can you cast a Lightning Curse at one of the dummies for me?" Quirrell says. He raises his wand as if to demonstrate. 

I wearily push him out of the way and put up my own wand. " _Fulgoris_ ," I murmur. What comes out hardly seems like a spark compared to the storms I've summoned up before. 

"Hmm, is that spell normally that weak for you?" Quirrell says. 

"No," I reply. 

"You just didn't put much energy into it, then," Quirrell says. 

"I don't have much energy _to_ put into it," I murmur. 

"Why are you so weak today?" Quirrell asks. 

"I'm tired," I say. 

"Hmph," Quirrell says. 

"But... I'm interested in Halloween," I say, sitting down in a chair heavily. "Tell me more about this ritual you mentioned." 

"I didn't mention a ritual, Potter," Quirrell says. 

"You didn't?" I say wearily. Crap, did he not mention it this time, and only the previous time? 

Quirrell smirks. "Why don't you tell me what you think I was talking about, then?" 

I hesitate. I've already slipped up enough. I don't want him to figure out that there's something strange about me. "Never mind," I say. "I must just be confused." 

"Out with it, Potter," Quirrell says, not fooled for a moment. 

"Um..." I murmur reluctantly. "Something about attuning my magic... declaring myself as a dark wizard... I think..." 

"Ah," Quirrell says. "That. I see. Does that mean you are interested in such a thing, then?" 

"I don't know," I reply. 

"You _don't know_?" Quirrell says, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Bah! Why did you even bring it up, then, if that's the case?" 

"Sorry," I say. 

"Fine," Quirrell says. "You've got a few days yet to make up your mind. Think about it, then. If you decide to do it, then come here and meet me in my office after dinner on Halloween." He shakes his head. "I doubt you're willing to make such a commitment yet, however. You have raw talent and potential, but you are weak and indecisive. You don't know what you're doing or where you're going. You were too afraid of what your peers might think to even join Slytherin house, why should this be any different?" 

I look at the floor, unsure as to what I should say. 

"Bah," Quirrell says. "Go on. Go back to your foolish Gryffindor _friends_ , if that's what you call them." 

I stumble on back to the Gryffindor dormitories and just decide to turn in early tonight. 

* * *

It's Halloween morning. The students are excited about the upcoming feast, but I have other things on my mind. I've still been debating taking Quirrell up on his suggestion. And I can't really come up with any good arguments to refuse, honestly. I'm not entirely certain just what this will entail, but anything that makes me stronger can't be a bad thing, right? 

"The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Flitwick is saying. "Now, give your wands a little swish and flick, and send the feather floating into the air." 

I stare at my feather, not casting anything just yet, and just listening to Ron mispronouncing it. I don't see why I bother to hold back at this point. It's not like they haven't all seen me casting things more complicated than this regularly. It's just a Hover Charm, after all. 

"No, no, you're saying it wrong," Hermione tells Ron. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she says, waving her wand at her feather and sending it drifting upwards. 

"Oh, very good, Miss Granger!" Flitwick says. "Five points to Gryffindor!" 

"Bah!" Ron says once Flitwick walks away. "You're such a show-off. At least Potter tries to hide the fact that he's better at this than the rest of us, but you always get up in everyone's faces about it!" 

"Ron," I snap. "Stop." 

"What?" Ron says. "You know it's true!" 

"Stop," I say firmly. "Say whatever you like about me, fine. But do _not_ speak ill of my friends." 

"Or what?" Ron says. "You'll hex me?" 

"Harry, don't," Hermione says. 

"I'm not going to hex you," I say. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " 

Ron's robes flap up into the air and tangle themselves around his arms and face, revealing the Muggle shorts he's wearing underneath. "Gah!" Ron says, struggling with the charm. 

"Sorry!" I say with false sincerity. I'm not nearly strong enough with this spell to actually lift Ron off of the ground. But clothing isn't that heavy. 

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Flitwick says, and Ron's robes flop down around his body again. "Be more careful about your targeting, please, Mr. Potter." 

"Harry," Hermione says to me in a quiet warning tone. 

"Purely an accident," I say innocently. 

Seamus is snickering. "Nice pants, Ron." 

"What?" Ron says. "They're comfortable! Muggles make the best underwear." 

Hermione just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. But at least she isn't running off to cry in the restroom. If a troll should happen to somehow get into the castle tonight, she'll be safe, at least. I don't know if it will still happen with all the changes I've made, but I don't even know how it got in last time, so I'm going keep my eyes open and my wand ready for an _Incendio_ , just in case. 

We get through the remainder of today's classes, and go to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. There's so many delicious things to eat tonight, and while sitting next to Hermione and enjoying them, I can at least forget about the horrible things that happened on my previous visit. And despite myself, I find myself growing excited in anticipation of tonight's ritual. 

"Harry," Neville says. "Are you free to help me with my Defense homework tonight?" 

I shake my head. "Sorry, Professor Quirrell wanted me for something this evening. Why don't you ask Hermione?" 

"Alright," Neville says. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing, then." 

"Ugh, don't tell me that," I mutter to myself as I head off to Quirrell's office. 

"So, you came after all," Quirrell says, looking at me appraisingly as I enter. 

I give a nod. "What do you need me to do?" I ask. 

"Come with me," Quirrell says. "We have preparations to make, but this isn't the place for them." 

I follow him out of the office. "Where are we going?" I ask. 

He doesn't bother to reply. Something in the back of my head tells me that I should be more wary, and think that this situation is dangerous and alarming. But it's quickly overridden by excitement. I really want to see where this is going, and what will come of it. 

We head down into a little-used section of the dungeons, and Quirrell leads me into an empty room that I might have thought was an unused classroom if it weren't for the manacles and chains. There's an empty cauldron in the center of the room. 

Quirrell casts several spells over the door, and then turns to me. "I'll begin drawing the runes," Quirrell says. "You start the fire and get some water in that cauldron." 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

Once the cauldron is taken care of, Quirrell glances up from his work and asks, "How good are you with potions, Potter?" 

"Not very good," I reply. 

"Can you at least chop some ingredients?" Quirrell asks. 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

He hands me a bag and knife, and says, "Finely dice the black leaves, cut the red leaves into thin slices, and crush the fangs into powder." 

"Alright," I say, taking the ingredients and proceeding to carefully get to work on that as Quirrell continues with the runes. I don't recognize the leaves, but I'm pretty sure these are snake fangs. At least I'm sharp and alert tonight, and my hands are steady. 

Once I finish with that, Quirrell comes over to examine my handiwork, and nods approvingly. "Acceptable. Now, I want you to scrub down the area around the cauldron. Make sure it's immaculately clean." 

I nod, and get to work on that while he continues to draw runes along the edges of the room. This must be an awfully complex bit of magic. After a while longer, Quirrell comes over to me again. Looks like he's finished up with those runes. 

"Nervous, Potter?" Quirrell asks. 

"No, sir," I reply. 

Quirrell chuckles. "You always find some way to surprise me," he says. "Now, we have some more preparations to make. Strip. I need to draw runes on your skin." 

"You want me to get naked in front of you, sir?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. 

Quirrell snorts softly. "There's no need for prudishness, Potter. But you may retain your pants if that makes you uncomfortable." 

"Alright," I say, pulling off my robes and setting them aside. 

I hold out my arms and stand perfectly still as Quirrell draws runes all over my body. I don't know what sort of ink he's using, but it feels hot to the touch, almost as though it's already burning into my skin. By the time he's finished with the complex, intricate patterns, it's almost midnight. 

"There," Quirrell says. "This will have to do. The hour approaches." 

"You would have done more, given the time?" I wonder. 

"I would," Quirrell says. "I would prefer everything to be perfect, rather than merely sufficient. But there is only so much that can be done given the circumstances and constraints." 

Quirrell starts brewing the potion, carefully putting the ingredients I prepared into the cauldron. I stand by, waiting patiently and quietly. I shiver unconsciously. It's cold down in this dungeon, despite standing near the bubbling cauldron and having these weirdly hot markings on my body. The constrast feels strange. 

"Now, come over here, Potter," Quirrell says. "Take this ritual knife and cut your left palm, and allow the blood to drip into the cauldron." 

I nod, and take the knife, and wince a little as it bites into my skin. As my scarlet blood runs into the potion, Quirrell chants arcane words that I can't quite follow. I'm starting to feel a little dizzy. As he finishes the incantation, the runes over my body begin to glow in vibrant green, and burning painfully like acid. 

"Rejoice, Potter," Quirrell says. "On this night, the Dark Lord shall be reborn!" 

I collapse to my knees in pain. "What..." I murmur. 

Red light erupts from the cauldron, and my vision blurs. I'm not sure whether the room is getting darker, or my eyes themselves are fogging up. And Voldemort... Voldemort is laughing. 

"This is what you intended?" I rasp. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I did," Quirrell responds. "Would I seriously expect you to go along with this if I had been less vague?" 

"Maybe," I murmur. 

"Even at the cost of your own life?" Quirrell asks. 

"Maybe," I repeat. 

"Why?" Quirrell asks. 

"If it were worth it," I slur. My body is getting heavy. I can't keep my eyes open, so I let my eyelids slide shut. "You've taught me a fair bit already. You've paid the price for this life. But it's the only life you get." 

"What are you talking about?" Quirrell wonders. 

"No... something is wrong here," Voldemort's voice says. 

"What is it, my lord?" Quirrell asks. 

"This blood, it's all wrong!" Voldemort hisses. "It's not Potter's. It's not even human! What sort of trickery is this?" 

"What!?" Quirrell says. "How can this be? I watched him drain the blood out of his own hand!" 

Now it's my turn to laugh. "Is this ritual not even going to work, then?" 

"It worked," Voldemort says. "But look what it has done to me!" 

I open my eyes, and grin at what I see. Before me stands a dragon-man, a draconian humanoid, with sleek black scales. "Well, if it means anything, _I_ think you're magnificent." 

" _Who are you?_ " Voldemort demands. " _What_ are you?" 

"I am Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer, the Stormseeker, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood," I reply. 

" _How?_ " Voldemort asks. "How did this happen? Where is the real Harry Potter?" 

"I think... that's all the strength left in me," I murmur, almost deliriously. "Thank you for letting me see your glorious new form before I die." 

I slump over and let my eyes slide shut again, and slip into the darkness. 

* * *

I wake slowly, very much drained and exhausted. I'm back in the Gryffindor dormitory, and it's morning. I could really, really use a Wideye Potion about now. Screw it, I get dressed and head down to the hospital wing to see if I can get one. 

"What's the problem, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey says as I enter. 

"I didn't sleep well last night," I say. "Could I possibly get a Wideye Potion to get me through today's classes?" 

"You'd be better off actually sleeping, you know," Madam Pomfrey says. 

"I'll go to bed straight after dinner, I promise," I say. 

"Alright, alright, so long as you be sure to do so," Madam Pomfrey says, pulling out a potion and handing it to me. "But don't make a habit of it." 

"I won't," I say, drinking down the potion. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." 

It's not perfect, and I still feel magically drained, but at least I'm less physically tired now. It should be enough to get me through today's classes, if nothing else. 

I spend breakfast eating absently and thinking about how I died. The Dark Lord made such a beautiful black draconian. I know I should be more horrified about what happened. He tricked me and lied to me, used me and sacrificed me for his own resurrection. I'll get him to spend the rest of the year teaching me whatever he can to make up for it. At least I was the only one he hurt, that time, so far anyway. And he might never find out what happened to the real Harry Potter. That'll drive him crazy. 

Charms class. Flitwick's teaching us how to cast the Hover Charm. What's the point in even pretending? " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I murmur at my feather. It doesn't hover. It flicks end over end and falls off the desk. I sigh, and say, "Well, it was close?" 

"You cast it exactly right," Hermione says. "I don't know why that didn't work. _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she casts at her own feather. It floats into the air obediently. 

"Well done, Miss Granger!" Flitwick says. "Five points to Gryffindor." 

Ron is mispronouncing it again. Hermione says, "That's not how it goes. Say it like this: _Wingardium Leviosa_." 

"Don't help me!" Ron snaps. 

"Why not?" Hermione says, looking hurt. 

"Leave her alone, Ron," I say, stepping between them. 

"Or you'll do what, Potter?" Ron says. 

"I'm sick of this," I say. "Do _not_ mistreat my friends for no reason other than because they're my friends." 

"I'm not," Ron says. "She's such an insufferable know-it-all though!" 

" _Leave her alone_ ," I say firmly. 

"Harry..." Hermione says. 

"You stuck up for me, Hermione," I say. "I'll stick up for you." 

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione says quietly. 

"Is there a problem, students?" Flitwick says, approaching our part of the classroom again. 

"My feather fell off the table instead of floating into the air," I say. "I'm just going over to pick it up." 

"Carry on, then," Flitwick says. 

I can't get the spell to cast correctly for the remainder of class, but I'm less than concerned about it at the moment. Once classes are over for the day, I head off to enjoy the Halloween feast, take two. I don't really mind doing this one twice in one day. 

As I eat, I think on what to do about Quirrell. Should I just go straight to my dorm, or visit his office to tell him that I'm backing out first? Notifying him would probably be the polite thing to do, I suppose. But I really shouldn't let him have any chance to figure out why. And why am I worried about being polite when he just betrayed and killed me? 

And yet, I find myself heading for the Defense office after the feast regardless. "Ah, there you are, Potter," Quirrell says. "I was wondering if you were going to come." 

I shake my head. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to do it," I say. 

Quirrell's lips thin. "I see," he says. "Decided to back out after all?" 

"My apologies," I say, giving him a short bow. 

"I didn't think you had it in you, anyway," Quirrell says. "You're still weak and full of doubt. But we will keep working at it. Perhaps at a later time, you will be ready for it." 

"Yes, sir," I say, smiling enthusiastically. "I look forward to it." 

"You're so eager to learn, yet you back down at this?" Quirrell says. 

He should be glad that I'm willing to listen to him at all. I won't fall for his tricks again, however. I will make him pay in knowledge for the life he took. 

"You are a very strange boy," Quirrell says. "Sometimes I could swear I see murder in your eyes." 

I smile coolly at him. "I wouldn't think that _you_ would be bothered by that." 

"What, are you seriously plotting to kill me?" Quirrell wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

"Of course not," I reply. 

Quirrell looks at me thoughtfully for a long moment, before replying, "Good. Come back Sunday for your next lesson." 

"I look forward to it," I say, and head off to sleep. 

I think I _will_ plan to kill him if he should try to kill me again, though. I've no hope of taking him on in a straight fight, though. But I'll think of a way. Somehow.


	32. Christmas Elves

"Lexen, I am concerned about the amount of time you are spending with Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore tells me in his office. 

"Is that what you called me here for?" I ask. 

"You have gotten many detentions with him this year," Dumbledore says. "Has he been doing anything to you?" 

"I'm keeping my eyes open," I reply. "I'm not going to let myself get tricked into participating in some midnight ritual to sacrifice me to resurrect the Dark Lord." 

"Alright, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "You know who you're dealing with. He is a dangerous man, and highly charismatic. Do not listen to anything he says." 

"Yeah," I say. "I know." I've ultimately decided that I _am_ pretty upset about being killed in that manner. Not so much about the ritual itself, but about being lied to. I don't like being deceived. 

* * *

"You should be concerned about the amount of interest that Dumbledore has displayed in you," Quirrell tells me in his office. 

"Why?" I ask. 

"Do you really believe that everything Dumbledore touches is good and right?" Quirrell says. "There is a lot of ill he has done in the name of the greater good, you know." 

"I don't believe that he's as good as people generally think he is," I say, shrugging. "I believe he's the sort of person who would place a magical child with abusive Muggles just because he insists that it's the 'right' thing to do." 

Quirrell's lips thin and he looks at me appraisingly for several long moments before finally saying, "Yes. Yes, he would." 

* * *

Christmas is approaching, which means it's time to owl-order candy for many of my friends. And a book for Hermione, of course. I'm glad that she's still around to celebrate Christmas. That she'll be able to see her family again, and that her parents won't have to spend this holiday mourning their lost daughter. 

"Harry," Draco says. "Going to come stay at Malfoy Manor for the holiday?" 

"Where else am I going to go?" I say with a smirk. 

"I don't know," Draco says. "Heading back across the pond? Staying at Hogwarts? Visiting the Weasleys?" He sneers at that last. 

I laugh aloud. "Good joke," I say. "I wouldn't mind seeing Malfoy Manor." I never actually saw it much in my last life, after all. Only a little bit of it when I went to buy Dobby from them. Now if I can just avoid thinking about poisonous murder while visiting. 

As if that's going to happen. I find myself dwelling on it more and more as the start of Christmas break approaches. By the time I board the train with Draco, I can't shake the images from my mind. I fear that all this will do is give my overactive imagination actual solid images to haunt me with. Maybe Malfoy Manor will be nothing at all like I imagined it, and actually serve to dispel the images instead. I can only hope. 

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Harry Potter," Lucius greets me with a faint smile. 

"Greetings, Lucius Malfoy," I say, giving him a small bow. 

"I'll admit that I'm a bit surprised that you decided to come, after what happened last summer," Lucius says. 

I give a faint shrug. "I'll deal with it." 

It's a little awkward, meeting them again after the aforementioned incident. While Draco also knows the truth of the matter, he has stubbornly pretended not to at school for the most part, which is just as well, really. He acts normal and rarely mentions it. But here I am at the heart of the incident, and I don't know how I'm going to react. 

I wander into the dining area. It's a nice place, tastefully decorated with a rich mahogany table, silver candlesticks, a broad window overlooking the garden. Was this where it happened? Where the tormented house-elves stood by and watched as their masters died rather than lift a finger to their aid? 

Suddenly, Rispy appears in the room. I jump in startlement. Of all the people I expected to see here today, he was not high on the list. He's well-dressed in elf-sized garb, and bears a long knife strapped to his belt. 

"Rispy!" I exclaim. "What are you doing here?" 

"Am I unwelcome in this house, Harry Potter?" Rispy asks. 

"I don't know, this isn't even my house," I reply. 

"Harry?" Draco says, striding into the room and raising an eyebrow at the strange house-elf. "Huh. There's a sight you don't see every day. A house-elf wearing clothes." 

"I am _not_ a house-elf!" Rispy snaps. In an instant, he has his knife out and pointed at Draco. 

"Rispy!" I cry. "It's impolite to threaten someone in their own home. I'm sure he meant no offense." 

"Gah!" Draco says. "Harry, you know this crazy thing?" 

"And I recognize this house now..." Rispy says. "You brought me here to force me to breed with one of your slaves for you!" 

"Huh?" Draco says, blinking, and then his eyes widen as it dawns on him. "Oh, you're _that_ elf..." 

"Yes, I'm _that_ elf," Rispy spits, raising the knife. 

Draco reaches for his wand, but I'm quicker with my own. " _Petrificus Totalus_ ," I cast, and Draco's limbs snap together. "Rispy, please put away the knife. These people are my allies, and they have promised to treat their house-elves better--" 

"That's _not good enough_ ," Rispy says fervently. "It's still slavery! A happy slave is still a slave!" 

"Rispy, please calm down," I say gently. "I'm not overly fond of the situation myself, but I acknowledge that I, alone, cannot hope to end the slavery of elves in Britain with the resources I currently have available, not yet." 

"I _know_ that," Rispy says. "I'm not concerned about the abstract, freeing slaves, not just yet anyway. _This_ is for revenge for what was done to me!" 

Much as I'd like to point out that they did much worse to him in another life, in which I didn't save him as quickly, I neither care to blow my cover nor believe that that would actually help the matter. "Do _not_ harm Draco," I say coldly. 

Rispy turns to glare at me. "I know you saved me and all, to which I am very grateful, but if you stand in my way, I will be forced to fight you." 

"What's going on here?" Lucius demands, stepping into the room. 

" _I will kill you!_ " Rispy cries, charging at Lucius. 

" _Flipendo!_ " I snap off. The spell catches Rispy by surprise, knocking him into the far wall. " _Finite Incantatem!_ " I cast at Draco. 

"What was the point in that?" Draco says, drawing his wand. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I cast at Rispy as he tries to get up again. He's knocked off his feet and the knife flies out of his hand and embeds itself into the wall. 

Lucius has his wand out and pointed at Rispy. "Desist at once, elf," he warns. 

"You bloody wizards are all the same," Rispy snarls. "You hate anything you can't control. Well, guess what? You are never going to control me again!" 

Rispy waves his hand, knocking the three of us off our feet. With inhuman speed, he leaps on top of Lucius. I scramble for my feet and reach for my wand. Rispy's knife is in his hand again, and it's covered in blood now. He's moving for Draco. Damn it all. 

" _Petrificus To--_ agh!" Rispy is upon me before I can even get the spell off, crossing the room in the blink of an eye. Each of our weapons are knocked out of our hands again. 

"No more!" Rispy screams, beating against me with his fists. "No more injustice! No more slavery! No more! No more! No more!" He's stronger than I would have given him credit for, too. 

"Rispy!" I cry. "Stop! Rispy, stop! Please, stop! Stop it!" 

"No! Die!" Rispy yells. "Die! Die! Die! Die, die, die!" 

" _Flipendo!_ " casts Draco, sending Rispy tumbling off of me. 

"I've had just about enough of this!" Rispy yells. "Both of you just _die_ already!" 

Rispy grabs the knife and, in one swift movement, leaps up and slashes across my throat. I stumble and try to gasp, but only manage to gurgle as I fall face-first against the floor. I stare at the nice plush carpet, rapidly being stained red as my lifeblood pours out of my neck. 

As the darkness takes me, I start to think that perhaps I'm not solely to blame for murdering the Malfoys in that other life. A certain violent, bloodthirsty elf should hold responsibility in equal measure for it. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory, exhausted. What an absolutely _splendid_ day. Now, how in the Abyss am I to prevent the bloody rampage of a crazy elf? I sigh and rub my eyes. This was not how I anticipated starting off my holiday. 

Still feeling half-dead, I make it through breakfast and head for the train, catching Draco on the way. "Draco," I murmur. "I'm going to take a nap on the train. Then I need to talk to you, alone. Alright?" 

"Alright," Draco replies, frowning a little. 

Once on the train, I curl up in our compartment and am asleep in moments, before the train even starts to move. A little ironic that, this time around, I trust Draco enough to sleep in front of him, but not Ron. By the time I wake, the sun is high in the sky, and the England countryside is rolling by. 

Draco is munching on Cauldron Cakes across from me. "Merlin, you're finally awake?" Draco says. "What did you do, get no sleep last night? Want one?" 

"Sure," I say, taking one and starting to munch on it, and then making sure my privacy spells are up. "Draco, I got killed tonight." 

"Huh?" Draco says. 

"That's why I was so tired," I explain. "We're going to have to be very, very careful to avoid this one." 

"What do you mean?" Draco says. 

I sigh. "There's an elf that's going to show up after we arrive at Malfoy Manor. Do _not_ under any circumstances refer to him as a 'house-elf' or say anything that might antagonize him." 

"Wait," Draco says. "You were killed by a _house-elf_?" 

"No," I say. "He's not a house-elf, he's a free elf. Which means he has no restrictions about harming us, and so he _will_ kill us if he gets angry." 

Draco stares at me for several moments as I pin him with a serious expression. "Alright, alright," he says. "I'll be nice to the crazy, bloodthirsty elf." 

"We'll need to tell your parents that as well," I say. "He didn't go berserk until Lucius showed up..." 

"How dangerous could he possibly be?" Draco says. "He's just an elf." 

"He killed Lucius, he killed me, and he was probably about to kill you next," I say. "But I was too busy bleeding to death out of my throat to notice what happened after that." 

Draco blanches a bit. "I see. Alright, so he's dangerous. Why don't we just have Father get the drop on him and kill him?" 

"I'd really rather not have to do that unless absolutely necessary," I say. "He's not a bad person or anything, but he's very... fervent. Vengeful. Zealous. I'd much rather have him as an ally than an enemy." 

"I still think this is a terrible idea," Draco says. "And why is this particular elf free, anyway?" 

"I got him freed," I say. "He was born free, though. And none too happy about having been forcefully enslaved." 

Draco frowns faintly. "Oh, Merlin, you don't mean _that_ elf, do you?" 

"Yes, Draco," I reply with a smirk. " _That_ elf." 

"What a piece of work!" Draco says. "He couldn't do anything but swear at us, but he taught our elves some nasty words in the process." He looks at me strangely. "Why in the world did you go and free him?" 

"He was a good friend in another life," I murmur. "And... I hadn't yet realized just how much things can change. I mean, _Ron Weasley_ was my best mate in that life, too. And you've seen how _that_ turned out this time." 

Draco snorts in amusement. "You were seriously friends with that slimy weasel?" 

"Heh. Yeah," I say. "Anyway, I'd like to try to keep Rispy calm and get on good terms with him. But if that fails, well, survival is of primary importance, even if it means having to kill him." 

"Wait a minute," Draco says. "This wasn't the elf you murdered my parents over, was it?" 

I stare intently at the window, not willing to look him in the face. "Yes, yes it was." 

"Was it his idea to kill them, or yours?" Draco asks. 

"It was his idea," I say. "He demanded vengeance, and threatened my life if I didn't help him. I gave him the poison, and told him it was salad dressing." 

"That was all?" Draco says. 

I nod, still not looking at him. 

"I wouldn't say you murdered them, then," Draco says quietly. 

"No, I totally did murder them," I say. 

"You acted under duress," Draco says. "You only did it to save yourself." 

"But Luna saw black grackles around me afterward," I say. 

"Huh?" Draco says. 

"Luna Lovegood," I explain. "She... she can see things most people can't. Grackles are invisible creatures that are attracted to those who have killed another person. Black ones, specifically, to people who have committed murder." 

"Alright, you were making sense right up until you mentioned Luna Lovegood," Draco says with a smirk. "Isn't she the daughter of the bloke that runs that nonsense rag, _The Quibbler_?" 

"I believe that's her, yes," I say. 

"And you listened to her?" Draco says incredulously. 

"Hey, she's the only person who realized I was a time traveler right off the bat, just from looking at me," I say. "She says some things that sound weird sometimes, but there's got to be something to it." 

"If you say so." Draco looks at me, sighs and rolls his eyes. "Look, you can keep feeling guilty about it if you really want to, but I'm not going to hold it against you. I wouldn't even if I _were_ that Draco." 

"Don't say things like that," I say. "You don't know that. You _can't_ know that. And I don't intend to get into a situation where I might find out, either." 

"Alright, alright," Draco says. "We're almost there. Let's clean up and get ready to go." 

Shortly, we're back at Malfoy Manor. Along the way, I advised Lucius to stay out of the dining area for a bit and leave Rispy to me. I'll take care of the belligerant elf myself. 

Sure enough, after I stand around in the dining room for about ten minutes, Rispy appears before me. He's not murderous yet. Just calm and content at the moment. Let's see if I can keep him that way. 

"Hello, Rispy," I greet him cheerfully. "How've you been doing?" 

"Greetings, Harry Potter," Rispy says, giving a small bow toward me. "I am well, thank you." 

"What brings you back to England?" I ask. 

Rispy shrugs. "Well, I went home for a while, but I got bored pretty quick and decided to head out again. There's still a whole world out there to see, wrongs to right, injustices to stop..." 

"I see," I say, giving him a faint smile. 

"But I decided to stop in and see you again first," Rispy says. "I still don't know why you helped me, but maybe not all wizards are bad." 

"I'm glad for that," I say. "I would hate to see innocents wind up dying all because of a misunderstanding." 

Rispy frowns a little. "I'm still not happy with the state of affairs regarding elven slavery, however. That's one reason why I came to you. You have more experience with the world of wizards than I do. What would be the best way to go about ending the enslavement of my people?" 

"I'm glad you came to me," I say, grabbing a nearby chair and plopping down into it with a sigh. "Please, have a seat." 

Rispy nods, and sits down in another chair. It looks massive around him, and his feet don't touch the floor. 

"For starters," I say. "Please don't take a life unless it's absolutely necessary. There are plenty of otherwise good people who grew up not knowing any better. And if you kill them, they're never going to learn differently, either." 

"But, they're slavers," Rispy says. "How good can they really be if they support this kind of industry?" 

"They've been told for generations that this is the way things are," I explain. "Even the best of them tend to believe that house-elves are very useful and just try to compassionately give them good working conditions." 

"That's horrible!" Rispy says. "How can people think like that?" 

"Well, just think," I say. "If you grew up with every authority figure in your life always telling you that humans are inferior, elves are superior, and that's just the way things are, what would you think?" 

Rispy frowns a little. "But... I _did_. Inferior, and weak, and evil, and... I think I see what you mean. It's difficult for me to think of humans as different from what I grew up believing." 

"Exactly," I say. 

Just then, Dobby appears in the room. "Dinner is ready," he says. "Will it just be you tonight?" 

Rispy turns to cast me a sharp glare. "Harry Potter, you keep slaves yourself?" 

"No, no," I say. "This isn't even my house." 

"You associate yourself with slavers?" Rispy says coldly. 

Dobby steps in between Rispy and me. "You no talk bad of Dobby's family," Dobby says. "They treat us very good! No punishments in months! Wonderful!" 

"They enslave you and then punish you when you don't do their bidding?" Rispy says. 

"No!" Dobby snaps. "They not bad! They Dobby's family!" 

"And _you_ have just been told all your life that _this_ is right and correct," Rispy points out. 

"That is, indeed, the other side of it not being easy to change the slave industry," I say, sighing. "There have been generations of house-elves who know nothing more than to be happy with their servitude. Before this can end, both sides need to change, and change doesn't come easily or quickly." 

Rispy stares at me for a long moment before slumping over and sighing. "I see," he murmurs. "You're right. You're right, of course. I didn't really think about it that way." 

"I've been trying to work on softening up the wizards, but it only goes so far," I say. "I've done what I can, but I wouldn't have even been able to get as far as I have if it weren't for the help of Lucius Malfoy." 

Dobby beams, and Rispy looks up with a frown. "Is that whose house this is? I thought I recognized it... Ah, yes, I remember Dobby now." His frowns deepens. "But it wasn't so very long ago that they 'borrowed' me and forced me to breed with one of their elves..." 

"Yes, well," I say. "I've had a _talk_ with them since then. Dobby can attest to the change. They won't be mistreating house-elves anymore, and have helped in convincing other wizards to treat them better as well." 

Dobby nods enthusiastically. "Things much better now!" Dobby says. "Dobby is happy!" 

"I see," Rispy says, sighing. "Well, I still don't really like this, but I suppose you have to start somewhere." 

"So, I'd say, the best way to stop elven slavery is to work from the inside," I say. "Work _with_ the elves, help them to change their views, and I'll do the same from the other side with the wizards. Perhaps you could start with Hogwarts. I spend most of the year there, myself. That place must have a lot of elves, and Dumbledore is a reasonable man." 

Rispy nods thoughtfully. "That sounds like a good idea," he says. "I think I'll do that, then." 

I consider inviting him to stay for dinner, but then reason that it's a bad idea. The Malfoys might still set him off in some way, and I doubt they'd be willing to eat dinner with their house-elves, either. "I wish you well with that," I tell him instead. "We both have our work cut out for us." 

"Farewell, Harry Potter," Rispy says. "I shall see you at Hogwarts." He gives a short bow, and then vanishes. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Dobby," I say. "You can tell the Malfoys that our 'guest' is gone and we can eat dinner now." 

Dobby disappears as well. I don't bother moving. I curl up in the chair and bury my face in my trembling hands. I did a good job of hiding my tension in front of Rispy. Now, I don't care anymore. The Malfoys have already seen the worst of me. It doesn't matter. 

"Harry?" Draco says, entering the room, followed by his parents. "What happened?" 

"Crisis averted," I say, letting out a deep breath. 

"Care to explain what exactly that was all about?" Lucius says, coming over to take a seat at the table as the elves start bringing in food to lay out. 

"That was the elf I told you about before," I say. "And he probably would have gotten violent if Dobby hadn't been able to convince him that you were treating your elves better. But thankfully, we were able to resolve the situation without bloodshed." 

"I see," Lucius says. "Was he really that dangerous?" 

"He would have killed you," I say. "He would have killed all of us." 

"If he's that dangerous, shouldn't he be put down?" Lucius wonders. 

"There's no need for that," I say, looking down at the food that's been placed before me and hardly seeing it. Those Cauldron Cakes seem like ages ago, but I can hardly stomach the thought of food right now. "I was able to reason with him and steer him toward a less bloody course. I believe he will be an ally now." 

"That seems an awful lot of trouble to go to for one elf," Lucius says. 

"He's not just one elf," I say. "He's a valuable friend that I would kill for." 

"I see," Lucius says. "As you say. Well, if that's the case, it seems as though you need all the help you can get." 

"That's one way to put it," I say. 

"Do remember that we'll support you in any way we can," Lucius says. 

I absently poke at a bit of steak with my fork and chew on it. "You think I'm going to be the next Dark Lord, don't you." 

"It would seem a reasonable assumption," Lucius says. 

"I have no interest in ruling the world," I say, spearing another bit of meat a little more violently than I'd intended. "You can do that if you want to, though." 

Lucius looks at me strangely. "Why would you not wish that?" 

"Because I'd much rather have power without responsibility," I say, smirking. "To be able to do whatever I want, but not be expected to do anything." 

"Ah," Lucius says. "I can see the appeal in that. Still, you're the sort who is liable to shake things up, and it would seem to be to be far preferable to be on your side rather than against you. I don't know what all you intend to change along the way." 

"I intend to gain power and to survive," I reply. "Beyond that, all else is negotiable." 

"I would have expected someone in your circumstances to go out of their way to try to improve their friends' situations," Lucius says. 

"I don't even have the same friends," I say. "And I'd like to take credit for saving Hermione, but the event that would have killed her didn't even show up this time. I've already changed too much, and I can't always accurately predict what might happen from here on out. So, I'll just have to see what happens for the moment." 

"If I might ask, why are you wasting your time with going to school when you've already been through it all before?" Lucius asks. 

It occurs to me just why he's been so helpful. I didn't tell him just how far into the future I came from. He believes me to have been already a powerful adult wizard that traveled back in time. I doubt he would react well if he found out now, however. I carefully mask my expression. 

"It would look strange if Harry Potter didn't attend Hogwarts," I say. "And it's a good place to start building alliances. The homework is easy, so I've got plenty of time for extracurricular studies. It's hard to hide that I'm above their level, however. Do you have any idea how hard it is to intentionally fail to cast a Hover Charm once you already know how?" 

"I see," Lucius says, nodding in agreement. "That's true." 

"It's fun watching him intentionally lose points for Gryffindor, though," Draco says. "I still think you should have been in Slytherin, though." 

"Maybe next time," I say, shrugging. 

"How much more time travel do you intend to do?" Lucius asks. 

"Until I get it right," I say firmly.


	33. Cloak and Dagger

Christmas morning dawns at the Malfoy house. A pile of brightly wrapped presents has been stacked up underneath the tree in the foyer. Candles gleam on the branches of the tree, illuminating the room with a flickering light and setting the colorful ornaments to sparkling. 

"What are you waiting for?" Draco says when he sees me staring. "Let's open the presents!" 

"Heh," I say, giving a faint grin and going over to look through the pile, pulling out the ones with the name Harry Potter on them. Let's see what I got. Hermione sent me a Muggle history book. From Neville, a box of Chocolate Frogs. Draco got me a dueling wand holster. Another book of dark magic from Lucius. A set of blood red dress robes from Narcissa. 

And... there it is. James Potter's invisibility cloak, from Dumbledore. The note reads, "You could probably use this more than I. Take care where you walk in the darkness, and let none find you unless you wish to be found." 

"Nice, an invisibility cloak?" Draco says. "Who sent you that?" 

"Dumbledore," I reply. "It belonged to my father. Isn't it delightful to get one's inheritance back as Christmas presents?" 

Draco makes a face. "That's Dumbledore for you," he says. "Thanks for the cream-filled dragon eggs." 

"Indeed," Lucius says. "I am not fond of the man's habits." 

"Lucius, there aren't any spells or anything on this book, are there?" I ask, holding up the book he gave me. 

"No," Lucius replies. "It's just a book. You can safely do whatever you like with it." 

"Alright," I say. I take the Muggle history book and remove its cover with a quick _Diffindo_ , and do the same for the dark magic book, then attach the boring cover to the much more interesting book. 

"Ah, I see," Lucius says, nodding approvingly. "That should avoid any undue scrutiny at school." 

"Just don't tell Hermione that I vandalized the book she sent me," I say, smirking. "Really now, Muggle history? Why would I care about that?" 

Lucius chuckles softly, and says, "You were the one who chose to be friends with a Mudblood." 

"She's not a Mudblood," Draco says. "She's Ravenclaw's secret heir." 

Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Really now? Did Harry tell you that?" 

"Yeah," Draco says. 

"I see," Lucius says thoughtfully. "Regardless, she is still Muggle-raised, and hence by and large ignorant of our culture." 

"They don't exactly have any classes on wizard culture at Hogwarts," I say. "You'd think that would be a _requirement_ for any Muggle-raised magical children. As it is, they just kind of muddle through, step on everyone's toes, and make themselves look like idiots in the process." 

"You make a good point," Lucius says. 

I open up a Chocolate Frog and munch on it. Draco is nibbling on one of the dragon eggs I got him. Narcissa says, "Be sure not to eat too many of those at once. You'll make yourself sick." 

"Yes, Mum," Draco mutters, licking his fingers. 

"Harry, dear, let's see how you look in your new robes," Narcissa says. 

"Alright," I say, going to slip them on over my pajamas. They're a lovely shade of red, befitting of Gryffindor, although they lack a gold trim to go along with it, opting instead for silver. "They look nice. A perfect fit." 

"They'll always be a perfect fit," Narcissa says with a small smile, looking over me appraisingly. "They're charmed to change their size along with you, so you won't have to replace them as you grow." 

"That's convenient," I say. 

"You can wear them on the thirty-first," Lucius says. "We're hosting a New Year's Eve party this year, and you're more than welcome to attend." 

"That sounds like fun," I say. 

* * *

I don't recognize most of the adults at the Malfoys' New Year's party, but most of the children who come I think are Slytherins. Lucius diligently introduces me to each family one at a time. There's the Greengrasses, Theodore Nott's father, the Crabbes and Goyles of course, the Bulstrodes, Blaise Zabini's mother, the Averies, Yaxley, Macnair, the Carrows... The Parkinsons are conspicuously absent, although Pansy is attending. 

"And you are, of course, already familiar with Severus Snape, your Potions professor," Lucius says, gesturing toward the latest arrival. 

"Naturally," I say, giving a small bow toward Snape, who just glowers at me in return. 

"I see you're in your natural element here, Potter," Snape says. "Hobnobbing with purebloods in high society." 

"It's good to see you here, too," I say brightly, with an unwavering smile. "I hope you've been having a wonderful holiday." 

"Stow the pleasantries, Potter," Snape quips. 

"Oh, there's no need to be rude, Professor," I reply. 

"Severus, is that any way to treat my house guest?" Lucius says smoothly. 

Snape sighs irritably. "Fine, fine. Happy New Year, Potter. I hope to deduct many points from Gryffindor because of you in the upcoming term." 

"I look forward to it, sir," I say cheerfully. 

Once all the guests have arrived and the introductions are done, I wander off to grab some punch and mingle. Children and adults alike are generally pleasant toward me, although some seem to be a little afraid, tense. What have the Malfoys been telling them about me? I'm a bit uncomfortable about this sort of attention, from grown wizards no less, but I mask it well. 

After two hours of that, I get tired of the crowd, and go out to get some air on the third floor balcony. " _Thermos_ ," I mutter to ward off the biting cold. A blizzard has blanketed the area in a thick layer of snow. The sky is heavy and overcast, blocking my view of the stars. It'll probably start snowing again soon, but at the moment, the air is crisp and still. 

There's the sound of the door opening behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see who just came out. Yaxley, I think his name was. He points his wand at the door, and I hear a faint click. Did he just cast a _Colloportus_ on that door? "You'd do well not to wander off on your own, little Potter," Yaxley says. 

Yaxley pulls out an ornate dagger and stalks toward me. I try to move, but I find myself frozen in place. I can still talk though, and I still have my wand in hand. " _Finite Incantatem!_ " I snap off, and the spell holding me breaks. 

He casts another nonverbal spell at me, and I just barely manage to dodge the bolt. "Hold still, you brat," Yaxley spits. "The Dark Lord will reward me well for this!" 

I don't waste time with a retort. " _Expelliarmus!_ " I cry. He manages to keep a hold of his wand, but the dagger goes flying out of his hand and off of the balcony. My heart is pounding. This is an experienced adult wizard, and a Death Eater to boot. I don't stand any chance against him in a straight up fight. 

"Why, you..." Yaxley says. "Trying to fight, are you? Well, give it up. You've already lost. Surrender now and I'll make your end quick and painless." 

I'm tempted briefly, but I quickly decide that pain doesn't bother me that much. I'm not giving up without a fight, even if the fight seems hopeless. I need something to tip the odds in my favor. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I murmur, and leap off the balcony. I can't actually lift myself with this, but it does slow my fall. 

"Trying to run, little boy?" Yaxley says, jumping down after me. "You can't escape." 

Beneath the balcony, there are some shrubs, with trees further away from the house. Yaxley casts another curse at me, and I tumble behind a large bush to dodge. "I will not surrender," I reply. "If you want my life, you'll have to earn it!" 

"If you'd just hold still!" Yaxley says, hurling another couple curses at me that fail to land. I haven't been all that athletic, but I figure that if even one of them hits me, it's over. That's pretty good motivation, right there. 

" _Tentacula Tenebrae!_ " I cast. Black tentacles spring into existence, flailing about and grasping at Yaxley. My control with them is terrible, but at least they aren't attacking _me_ , and they do seem to be giving him problems. 

"Where did _you_ learn dark curses?" Yaxley wonders. "No matter. I know far more than you ever will!" 

He shoots off another curse at me, and I dive out of the way. It slices through my robes and bites into my thigh. If I'd been just the slightest bit slower, it would have taken my whole leg off, if not both of them. I wince and stumble in pain as blood starts staining my crimson robes with a slightly different shade of red. 

" _Flipendo!_ " I cast, more to distract him than anything else. 

He dodges my Knockback Jinx, and manages to scramble away from the tentacles as well. Another curse flies at me from his wand and strikes me full on this time. I immediately feel dizzy and nauseous. This isn't a time to be vomiting, though. I try to focus, shove all these feelings aside into the storm in my mind. If I am to survive this night, I must defeat this enemy before me. 

As I dodge another incoming curse, I realize that Yaxley is now standing underneath a small decorative tree. " _Diffindo!_ " I cast, aiming at a limb just above his head. He moves to dodge my spell, only to realize too late that I wasn't casting it at him. Inanimate objects don't dodge, and the severed limb comes crashing down on top of him. 

"Gah!" Yaxley cries, pulling his arm free of the limb. "Enough of this! I'll just kill you then! _Avada--_ " 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Yaxley's wand goes flying out of his hand this time, and buries itself in the snow several feet away. He scrambles after it, wriggling his way out from under the limb. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " This time the spell lands, snapping his limbs together and holding him in place. 

I pant heavily, looking at the immobile form of my enemy. I don't know how long I can hold him like this. Minutes, tops. Maybe even seconds. He'll kill me if he gets the chance. I need to stop him. 

It's starting to snow. I'm not sure where Yaxley's wand fell. I'm not even sure where that dagger went. It must be somewhere around here. Damn it, Yaxley's starting to twitch. I need to move fast. " _Accio_ dagger!" I cast. It's not perfectly cast, and doesn't actually bring it to me, but it moves it enough that I can see where it is at least. I snatch it up out of the snow. 

"You..." Yaxley snarls. Damn it, the spell's wearing off already? If I'm going to do this, I have to do it _now_. I stand over the prone form of my enemy, but still I hesitate. "Don't have the nerve to finish me off, little boy? The minute I can move my arm again and find my wand, you're dead. Maybe I'll even torture you first for all the trouble you've given me." 

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," I murmur, hopefully giving myself a little bit more time. And just as well, as my body is shaking, and I vomit into the snow. Ugh, I'm not really feeling this sick about the idea of killing someone again, am I? No, it's just the curse he hit me with earlier, I'm sure. 

"You're pathetic," Yaxley says as the spell starts wearing off again. I'm still doubled over in the snow, emptying my stomach of the punch and snacks I'd eaten during the party. "You'll never amount to anything, whichever side you decide to wind up on, if you can't even kill a helpless enemy who is intent upon killing you first! What are you going to do, disarm them, send them off to trial? I got out of going to Azkaban, you know. A lot of Death Eaters claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse to avoid prison. They believed us, of course. How could they prove otherwise?" 

I wipe off my mouth and straighten, looking down at him again. I'm still shaking, though. "I don't care," I mutter. 

"Don't you?" Yaxley says. "Do you know how many people I've killed, Potter? How many I've tortured to death? And I had lots of fun raping the Muggle women, too. Imperius and Obliviate, they can't do anything about it and won't even know it happened afterward. I wonder how many illegitimate children I have running around these days." 

"You disgust me," I say. Anger boils up inside me. This man might not be Sedder, but he's just as bad as him. There's absolutely no reason why I should not _kill him_. 

I clench the dagger in a tight fist, and slice it across Yaxley's throat. Blood gushes out for a few moments, spraying me and soaking my robes. I should have really expected that, given how many interesting wounds I've died from, but it still seemed the most expedient way to finish him off. 

I glance down at my hands. The bloodied dagger is glowing. That can't be a good sign. It fades away within a minute, though. Still, I'd really like to know just what magic is in this weapon I just killed a man with. 

As my anger cools and adrenaline drains away, I find myself shivering in the cold. Oh, right, my Warming Charm got dispelled earlier when I canceled Yaxley's hold spell. " _Thermos_ ," I mutter. " _Scourgify_." Most of the snow, blood, and vomit vanishes from my robes. That should make me a bit more presentable, at least. 

I look over to Yaxley's body. Dead. Am I sure he's dead? He looks dead enough. Sure enough sign that he's really dead is that he finally shut up. I turn around and look away, and head back into the manor, leaving the trash laying in the snow. 

I step back into the party hall. There's a sudden hush as the guests turn to look at me. One woman even faints. Oh, right, I'd put away my wand, but I'd forgotten that I'm still holding a bloody dagger in my right hand. 

"Harry?" Draco says tentatively. 

"Yaxley tried to kill me," I explain. 

Snape raises an eyebrow at me. "I find it hard to believe that an eleven year old boy could defeat a former Death Eater through anything but sheer dumb luck." 

I snort softly. "I killed him," I say. "If you don't believe me, I left his corpse laying out in the snow under a tree." I point with the dagger in the direction I came from. "Sorry about the tree limb, Lucius." 

Lucius nods to me, and heads out that way. Narcissa approaches me and examines me critically. "You're bleeding, Harry," she says. "Severus, come help me with this, will you?" 

"Oh, very well," Snape says. 

The two of them lead me off into a side room to check my wounds. They strip off my damaged dress robes and lay me down on a table. I grimace in pain. Yaxley's curse left a nasty gash on my left hip, and blood is still running out of it. 

"You are very lucky this only struck a glancing blow," Snape says. "As it is, it will still leave a scar." 

"I'll have the house-elves clean and mend your robes," Narcissa says. 

"Here, drink this," Snape says, offering me a potion. I down it without question, although I almost gag in doing so, with how nasty it tastes. 

"What is that dagger?" Narcissa wonders, examining the bloody dagger that had been set aside. 

"I don't know," I say. "He tried to attack me with it, at first, until I disarmed him. But after I killed him with it, it started glowing..." 

"You killed a man with a magical artifact of unknown purpose?" Snape says. 

"It was the best thing I could think of at the time," I say. 

Snape sighs in exasperation. "What's done is done, I suppose. Did you notice anything else unusual about it?" 

I shake my head. "No, just the glow." 

"Fine," Snape says. "Once your condition is stable, I will analyze this dagger to ensure that it will not cause any further undue side effects upon you, and then confiscate it." 

"It's mine," I murmur. 

"Is it?" Snape says. "Did you not say it was Yaxley's?" 

"I claim it by right of conquest," I say softly. 

Snape snorts. "Do you intend to carry around a dark artifact at school, Potter?" He shakes his head. "Your attachment to the thing might be a sign that there's more to it than meets the eye." 

"It's a souvenir," I say. "I never killed someone like that before." 

"An eleven year old boy should not be thinking of _killing_ , nor taking such pleasure in it," Snape says. 

I don't know about pleasure, but I certainly don't feel as guilty about it as I did when I poisoned the Malfoys in my last life. He deserved it. He deserved it many times over. If anything, I feel... not pleasure, but relief. I didn't die tonight, not even once. I had surely expected it. I thought I was about to die. I can hardly believe that I'm still alive, and I _won_. I fucking _won_. Why should I feel guilty about that? 

Lucius comes into the room. "What's his condition, Severus?" 

"I've removed the curse and stopped the bleeding," Snape says. "It'll scar, but he'll be fine with proper rest." He frowns. "There's something strange about that dagger, however." 

Lucius goes over to examine it without touching it. "Yes, you're right," he says. "I don't recognize it, but it's definitely some sort of dark artifact." 

"He seems unnaturally attached to it," Snape says. 

"I am not," I mutter. "Is it so strange to want to keep a battle trophy?" 

"Potter, you're eleven," Snape says. "Battles are the last thing you should be worrying about." 

"Severus..." Lucius says quietly. "He... is not exactly an ordinary eleven year old boy." 

"Of course not," Snape says, rolling his eyes. "I don't care how amazingly special the Boy-Who-Lived might be. The fact remains that he is still a child, one who is incredibly lucky to live to see the new year." 

Lucius glances to me imploringly. I hate leaving Snape out of the loop like this. That was Dumbledore's decision, not mine. And really, letting him in on the time travel thing seems safer than that _other_ secret. 

I give a nod to Lucius. "Ward the room first, but tell him," I say softly. "He should know." 

"Know what?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow and looking between Lucius and me with a frown. 

Lucius casts a few quick spells and puts his wand away. "Harry isn't eleven years old," Lucius explains. "He's a time traveler." 

" _What_?" Snape says. "You can't be serious." 

"It's the truth," Lucius says. "He's from the future." 

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. "Even assuming that this ludicrous story is true, why on earth would he tell _you_ this?" 

"Professor, would you believe that _you_ were my closest ally in that life?" I say. 

"I find this all hard to believe," Snape says. "And if Potter is from the future, why is he so bad at potions?" 

I snort softly. "I've _always_ been bad at potions," I say. "But I can throw curses around like nothing." 

"Great, the Boy-Who-Lived is another Crabbe," Snape mutters. 

"I find it no great shock that he killed Yaxley," Lucius says. 

"I don't care if he _is_ from the future," Snape says. "I'm still not letting him take that dagger into Hogwarts." 

"Certainly not," Lucius says. "But if he wishes to keep it for whatever reason, I'll store it away somewhere safely for him to retrieve at a later date." 

"This is a bad idea and no good will come of it," Snape says. He looks to me. "Who else knows about this supposed time travel business?" 

"Dumbledore," I reply. "And Draco." 

"Care to offer some proof for your claims?" Snape says. 

"Severus..." Lucius says. 

"Did he offer _you_ any proof of this?" Snape asks. 

"Not as such," Lucius says. "But he was very... convincing." 

"If you've got a Pensieve, I'd be happy to provide a memory of my previous life," I say. 

"That would be sufficient," Snape says. 

I wrack my brain trying to think of a suitable memory that doesn't give away anything I don't want them to know yet, and doesn't include anyone calling me by the wrong name. Hmm, the memory of purchasing Dobby is innocuous enough. That will suffice. I can give him something else if he's not satisfied with that. Snape hands me a small vial, and I pull out that memory from my mind and put the strange silvery material inside. 

"Very well," Lucius says. "We'll go and take a look at this memory. Narcissa, dear, could you get Harry back to his room to rest for now?" 

"And have him drink this once he's there," Snape says, handing her a potion. 

I have to imagine that Snape must have potions stuffed up in his robes wherever he goes. He must have a bag like mine, that he fills with potions rather than books. Narcissa levitates me back upstairs to my room. After downing the latest nasty potion, I quickly fall fast asleep. 

* * *

I wake in my guest room in Malfoy Manor, and it's morning. My leg is very sore. I must have slept through the new year, or fought through it, I'm not sure when midnight actually ticked over. It hardly matters at this point, though. 

"Harry Potter hungry?" Dobby says, poking his face over the end of my bed. "Dobby bring breakfast!" 

"Ah, that would be nice, Dobby, thanks," I say. 

Dobby beams, and disappears, returning with a tray full of food momentarily. There's an omelette, hash browns, and sausages, along with a glass of orange juice. Other than the wound on my thigh, I feel fine. I'm not feeling nauseous despite having killed someone last night. I have to wonder if that's really a good sign. But I just can't bring myself to really feel that bad about it. Yaxley was a monster in human shape. He was an enemy, and he wanted me dead. It's okay to kill enemies. 

Lucius and Snape enter the room as I'm finishing up with breakfast. "Good, you're awake," Snape says. 

"Good morning, Professor," I say. 

"Spare me the pleasantries," Snape says. "I'm not impressed at this memory you gave me." 

"I was trying to avoid anything that would give away too much of future events," I say. "Or are you not convinced that it's real?" 

"It's real, I tested it," Snape says. "Although this does explain how you're a competent Occlumens already. But all this memory showed was something that hasn't happened, not too far into the future." 

"Is that not proof enough?" I ask. 

"Show me something involving myself," Snape says. 

"Fine," I say. I pull out the memory of going to Snape after murdering Lucius and Narcissa, and insert it into the vial he provides. "As a note, you call me Stormseeker in this memory." 

"Stormseeker?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. "Why?" 

I give a small shrug. "It was the title I was mentioned by in a prophecy," I say. "Another one, that Dumbledore didn't tell you about. You, Dumbledore, and Luna always called me that." 

"Luna?" Snape asks. 

"Luna Lovegood," I say. "She was one of my most valuable allies." 

"I see," Snape says. "Lucius, let us take a look at this memory, shall we? As for you, 'Stormseeker', you'd best remain in bed. That leg of yours isn't fully healed yet." 

I nod, and the two of them head out of the room again. I hope they don't react too badly to that memory. It was the best thing I could think of, though. 

They return a while later. Snape says, "That was an... interesting memory... 'Stormseeker'." 

"I didn't realize you were so young when the events you described occurred," Lucius says, frowning. 

"And it seems like ages ago now," I say, rubbing my eyes. 

"I am satisfied with this, but I would prefer a memory from further into the future," Snape says. 

I shake my head. "Sorry," I say. "I must take care not to reveal too far into the future. Things have already gone off track enough as it is. I hope you understand that I must keep some things a secret." 

"Tell me about this other prophecy," Snape says. 

I shake my head again. "Can't do that, either," I say. "That one is _very_ important that it remain a secret." 

"Fine," Snape says with a sigh. "So you're from the future. But don't expect me not to take points away from Gryffindor just because of this." 

I chuckle softly. "I'll do my best to lose as many points as possible, Professor."


	34. The Boy-Who-Killed

"Ah, Harry," Lucius says. "There's some people here who wish to speak with you regarding the New Year's incident. How are you feeling?" 

"Conscious," I reply with a crooked grin. "I'm fine and alert. Go ahead and send them in. I'll speak with them." 

Lucius leaves the room, and then a woman and two men come inside. "Greetings, Mr. Potter," says the woman. "I am Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I wish this meeting could have been under better circumstances." 

"Am I under arrest, Madam Bones?" I ask. 

"Not at this time, Mr. Potter," Madam Bones says. "Normally, we would ask you to come in for a hearing, but Mr. Malfoy convinced us to come here instead, since you are wounded. I merely wish to ask you a few questions regarding the death of one Mr. Yaxley." 

"I'll answer as best as I can," I reply. 

"Please describe what happened that night, in your own words," Madam Bones says. 

"I was attending the Malfoys' New Year's Eve party," I say. "I got tired of the crowd and went out onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air. Then, Yaxley came out and started ranting about how the Dark Lord would reward him well for killing me. We jumped off the balcony and started exchanging spells -- I caught a couple curses myself, but thankfully I dodged most of them. Then I used a Severing Charm to drop a tree limb onto his head, and took advantage of that to turn the battle in my favor." 

One of the men Amelia Bones brought with her is taking notes with a quill as I talk. "I see," Madam Bones says. "Where is your wand? I must examine it." 

"Here," I say, pointing to the stand beside the bed. 

Madam Bones picks up the wand and says, "I must check which spells you have performed recently." The spells seem to come out of the end of my wand in reverse order, and I identify them one by one as they emerge. _Scourgify, Thermos, Petrificus Totalus, Accio, Petrificus Totalus, Expelliarmus, Diffindo, Flipendo, Tentacula Tenebrae, Wingardium Leviosa, Expelliarmus, Thermos..._ and then a long string of failed Patronus Charms. 

"Dark Tendrils Curse?" Madam Bones says. "Where did you learn _that_?" 

"From a book..." I say vaguely. 

"No matter," Madam Bones says. "It's unusual and a bit questionable, but not illegal. I would advise you to stay away from delving too deeply into dark magic, however." 

"Of course, ma'am," I agree insincerely. 

"Did anyone witness the fight between you and Yaxley?" Madam Bones asks. 

"I don't think so," I say. "All of the guests were inside, so far as I know. It was awfully cold that night, and snowing intermittantly." 

"You must have been very lucky to have been capable of taking down an experienced wizard such as Yaxley at your age," Madam Bones says. "Although your spell repertoire shows skill above your grade. You must have been putting a lot of effort into your studies." 

"Yes, ma'am," I say. "I've got to become the best wizard I can be. I don't want to meet the same fate as my parents." 

"That's understandable," Madam Bones says. "Some, however, believe that you should be taken in and questioned under Veratiserum regarding the matter." 

I groan inwardly at the suggestion. Veratiserum is the last thing I want to have to deal with. What if they ask the wrong questions and I say more than I mean to? What if they find out my secrets? What if they find out about the dagger? 

"However, I do not believe that should prove necessary," Madam Bones. "Tell me, Mr. Potter. Do you remember what the last thing Yaxley attempted to cast at you was?" 

I nod. "The Killing Curse," I reply. "I was fortunately able to disarm him at that point because he decided to stop and proclaim how he was going to kill me, rather than merely attempting to kill me instead." 

Madam Bones nods. "I already performed a _Prior Incantato_ on Yaxley's wand, and it matches up to your story. He cast quite a number of nasty curses, including several illegal ones, plus an Unforgiveable Curse. The evidence seems pretty clear that you were merely defending yourself. However, I must ask, if you had him disarmed and helpless, why did you not simply disable him rather than kill him? Why didn't you cast a Stunning Spell or something at him?" 

"I don't know the Stunning Spell," I reply. 

"I see," Madam Bones says. "Understandable. But was there nothing else you could think to do?" 

I shake my head. "No. He was resisting my _Petrificus Totalus_ , it only even held him for a few seconds before he could talk again, and then he started talking about what he was going to do to me when he could move his arm and grab his wand again. Taunting me, saying that he would torture me to death, bragging about the horrible things he did as a Death Eater... All I could think was that, given the chance, _he would kill me horribly_. I didn't want to give him the chance." 

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Madam Bones says. "Very well, I think we have what we came for now. I see no reason to question you further on this matter at this time. I wish you a speedy recovery and a happy New Year." 

"Thank you, Madam Bones," I tell her as they leave the room. 

Lucius returns to the room a few minutes later. "I trust things went well?" he says. "They aren't hauling you off to Azkaban, so I take it this informal hearing didn't go too badly." 

"It was pretty obviously self-defense," I say. "Although she did give me a bit of a lecture about using dark magic. How many spells back does _Prior Incantato_ show, anyway?" 

"Forty-nine spells," Lucius says. 

"Seriously?" I say. "Ugh! That's bullshit." 

"There are ways to clear it, however. But a cleared wand looks awfully suspicious. It's merely preferable to being caught with actual evidence of having done something illegal. Alternatively, some wizards use multiple wands." 

I'm now making mental notes on how to get away with murder. If it should ever become necessary, that is. 

"I don't like this Department of Magical Law Enforcement poking their noses into everything," I mutter. "Why can't we all just settle everything with honor duels? Things would be so much simpler and less obnoxious." 

Lucius chuckles softly. "Indeed. But don't worry about them for now. If they want to bother you again, I'll try to keep them off your back." 

I glance at him. "Did you tell them about the dagger?" I ask. 

Lucius shakes his head. "Certainly not," he replies. "I have enough artifacts of a questionable nature in this manor as it is, and thankfully they only wished to speak with _you_ rather than look around more. I didn't need to give them reason to investigate further into the case." 

"Good," I say. "I want to see it." 

"Harry..." Lucius says. 

"What?" I snap, looking at him sharply. 

"We did a thorough analysis of the weapon," Lucius says. 

"And?" I press. 

"It would appear that you performed a blood sacrifice during the hour of midnight on New Year's Eve," Lucius says. "The dagger was designed to store magical energy, and this generated quite a bit of magical energy that it now contains, waiting to be used." 

I blink at him. I did what now? 

"I'm certain that you were feigning ignorance, and in fact, knew of this beforehand, perhaps even lured Yaxley out in order to kill him for just that purpose," Lucius says. As I open my mouth to protest, he raises his hand and shakes his head. "No, I will not dispute your choice in targets. I was never particularly fond of him, regardless. I'll retrieve the dagger for you when you wish to utilize it. May I ask what you intended to do with this energy?" 

My head whirls. Alright, I can't exactly tell him that I somehow managed to perform a blood sacrifice _accidentally_. "I need to sneak it into Hogwarts," I say quietly. Yes, let him think that I have some vague, nefarious plan. I'll just have to figure out what that nefarious plan is later. 

"Of course," Lucius says. "I'll prepare some charms to mask its presence for you, so that it won't be discovered." 

"Good," I murmur. "I need rest." 

Lucius nods and leaves me alone in the room. Once he's gone, I let out a ragged sigh and rub my temples. I just can't shake the horrible feeling of dread that this is all going to come crashing down spectacularly, and I just keep digging myself in deeper. 

* * *

The next week, I'm back in Hogwarts with the other students. My leg is still sore, and I have a bit of a limp when I walk, but at least I'm recovering. I have to wonder if it might not have been preferable to have just died, rather than taking a permanent injury in the process. No, that's a silly train of thought. I survived. I not only survived, but I _won_. And that's something I should feel good about. No matter what the consequences. 

By this point, however, the rumors have already managed to escalate to the point where I apparently spent my Christmas holiday single-handedly wiping out an army of Death Eaters. And a dragon, for some reason. They're already calling me the Boy-Who-Killed. 

Naturally, Dumbledore calls me to his office immediately after dinner on the day we return to Hogwarts. All things considered, I'm a little surprised that he didn't find an opportunity to talk to me before I came back. Maybe he just didn't want to visit Malfoy Manor. 

"Stormseeker, I am disturbed by these reports I have received," Dumbledore tells me. "Am I to understand that you killed someone over the holiday?" 

"Yes, Headmaster," I reply. "A 'former' Death Eater who tried to murder me." 

"I see, of course," Dumbledore says. "Did you have any trouble with the DMLE?" 

"They seem to have decided that it was a clear case of self-defense," I say. 

"They didn't question you with Veratiserum, did they?" Dumbledore asks. 

"No," I reply. 

"Understandably, you being questioned under Veratiserum is something that must be avoided at all costs," Dumbledore says. 

"Indeed," I say. 

"If you ever wind up in a situation where it seems like they're going to force you to do so, you need to mention my name and wait for them to contact me to intervene," Dumbledore says. 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I was covered this time, though. Lucius Malfoy was looking out for me." 

"I'm almost as disturbed by that as I am regarding the reports about you killing someone," Dumbledore says. 

"Don't worry," I say. "He may be on my side for now, but I know that position could change on a moment's notice. I may not be able to keep him as an ally much longer. I'll have to see what I can do." 

Dumbledore nods, and says, "Regarding Yaxley's attempt on your life. Do you think Voldemort might have set this up?" 

"I don't know," I reply. "He did say something about the Dark Lord rewarding him for it. Have you noticed any odd behavior from Quirrell? I mean, odder than usual, that is." 

"I have not, but then, he's been keeping to himself for the most part," Dumbledore says. 

"I'll have to see what he says when I see him next, then," I say. 

"Be careful, Lexen," Dumbledore warns me. 

"Relax," I say, smiling at him reassuringly. "I'm used to being in life-threatening situations." 

"You are far too cavalier regarding your own well-being, my dear boy," Dumbledore says. 

"Perhaps not so much as you fear," I say. "Do you know how many times I died fighting Yaxley? _None_." 

"You were most fortunate," Dumbledore says. 

"I don't believe in luck," I say. "So many times that I've died, I just kind of gave up, and didn't even bother trying to avoid it. But this time, I decided to fight with everything I had. I figured that I would probably still die anyway, but at least I was going to go down fighting." 

"Just be careful that you do not allow one victory to go to your head," Dumbledore says. "There are few things more dangerous than overconfidence." 

I nod. "I'll take your point to heart. And I suppose it's also true that I have been reckless at times. But I've learned not to throw my lives away casually." 

* * *

"So, Harry," Hermione says at breakfast the next morning. "Care to tell us what _really_ happened over your holiday?" 

"What, don't believe the rumors?" I say, snickering softly. 

"I find it hard to believe that you killed even _one_ Death Eater, never mind an army of them. And two dozen Dementors, and a dragon." 

"What, it's still only at one dragon?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "That's nonsense, anyway. I'd never kill a dragon." 

"I wouldn't believe anything the Slytherins say, anyway," Ron says acidly. "It's all probably just hero worship on the part of the little dark wizards in training." 

"Anyway," I say. "What _really_ happened is that _one_ Death Eater tried to kill me. And I _did_ kill him. By dropping a tree limb on his head with a Severing Charm." 

"So you got lucky, in other words," Ron says. 

"It's not luck," I say. "It's called using the environment for a tactical advantage." 

"Whatever," Ron says. 

"But still," Hermione says. "You really _killed_ someone?" 

"It was self-defense," I say. "He _was_ trying to kill me first." 

I think, the next time I kill someone, I need to make it a little less public. What a mess. Half of the school seems terrified of me, and the other half in awe. This is going to be an interesting term. I just hope that things eventually calm down a bit. 

Professor Quirrell calls me into his office after dinner. Not an entirely unexpected development, but one I'm not particularly looking forward to, nonetheless. I put on a calm, controlled mask and stride into the Defense office. 

"Ah, good evening, Potter," Quirrell says to me pleasantly. "I hear you made your first kill over the holiday. Congratulations are in order, I believe." 

That's not exactly the sort of reaction I was expecting. "Thank you, sir," I reply. 

"So, what happened?" Quirrell says excitedly. "Tell me _all_ about it! Did your heart pound in your chest when you realized your had your foe in your power? Did you savor the rush when his lifeblood poured out of his body?" 

He's not even _pretending_ not to be evil now. "I think I need to learn more spells," I say neutrally. 

"Of course, of course, my boy," Quirrell says. "We'll get back on our regular schedule again. There are so many things that I am _dying_ to teach you." 

"I would like that, yes," I say. 

"So tell me, how did you kill him?" Quirrell asks. 

"I dropped a tree branch on his head," I say for probably the hundredth time today. 

"And that's it?" Quirrell says. "That was enough to kill him?" 

"No," I say. "After that, I disarmed him, hit him with a Full Body-Bind Curse, and then cut his throat." 

"Ah, such a clever display of skill from my favorite pupil!" Quirrell says. 

I think I would prefer the useless, stuttering Quirrell. He was less creepy. "I didn't even think to use the Lightning Curse," I say. "And I ended up wounded as well. A victory, but not a flawless one." 

"Still, at your age, that is quite the accomplishment," Quirrell says. 

* * *

The announcement of a Dueling Club starting up comes the next day, met by murmurs of excitement among the students. At least it's enough to distract them from talking about _me_ for a change. And with Lockhart not around at the moment, it might even not be a complete disaster. 

There's quite the turnout at the first meeting on Saturday. Professor Snape comes up onto the stage and says, "Welcome to the first meeting of the new Hogwarts Dueling Club. In addition to my normal duties as Potions Master, I will be presiding over this club." 

I applaud. A number of the Slytherins join in. The Gryffindors just look at me strangely. I'm used to that, though. 

"First, I'd like to give a little demonstration of how a proper wizard's duel goes," Snape says. "Potter, since you're such a fan, would come up and assist me?" 

"Yes, sir," I say, heading up onto the stage across from him. So much for attention being diverted away from me for the moment. 

"Who will face Potter?" Snape says, looking across the crowd. "Who will go up against him? How about you, Weasley?" 

"Not a chance in hell," Ron retorts. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cowardice," Snape says. "Get up here, Weasley." 

"Fine," Ron spits, stalking up to the stage. "Just remember to stick to non-lethal spells, Potter." 

Snape sneers. "Now, face one another, and bow, yes, just like that, Potter," Snape says. "And then begin on the count of three." 

Once Snape signals us to begin, Ron casts, " _Flipendo!_ " A bolt of blue energy flies out of his wand toward me. 

I sidestep Ron's Knockback Jinx, and snap off, " _Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!_ " Ron's wand goes flying out of his hand, and before he even has a chance to react to that, his limbs snap together and he topples over like a board. 

"And Potter wins," Snape says. "An apt demonstration. Weasley attempted to cast the Knockback Jinx, but Potter dodged -- a vital skill in dueling. Potter responded with a Disarming Charm followed by a Full Body-Bind Curse, disabling his opponent." 

Only after detailing the rundown of the fight does Snape even bother to go over and dispel my curse upon Ron. I have to give a small snicker at that. 

"We haven't even learned those spells yet!" Ron protests. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for whinging," Snape says. 

"Maybe if you spent more time actually practicing your spells rather than playing Exploding Snap in the common room," I say. 

"Now, I want you all to pair off and practice casting the Knockback Jinx at one another, and dodging," Snape says. "None of you should be getting hit with that." 

As we pair up, everyone seems to shy away from being my partner. Then Neville pipes up with, "I'll pair off with you, Harry." 

I chuckle softly. "Good on you, Neville," I say. "Push yourself to succeed, and you will go far in life." 

Neville has trouble even casting the spell at first, but he soon improves with my encouragement. With the dodging, I'm going easy on him, giving him plenty of opportunity to see my spells coming at first. As the session progresses, we're snapping off spells faster and faster, and breaking a sweat at the exercise. My leg is aching terribly by this point, and my reflexes are slowing down. 

Then, one of Neville's spells strikes a glancing blow on me, sending me spinning and tumbling into the floor. The room goes quiet as everyone turns to look. "Good job, Neville," I say, chuckling and climbing to my feet with a small grin. "Very good." 

"The Boy-Who-Knocked-Back!" exclaim several people. 

"Alright, that's just getting ridiculous now," I say, laughing aloud. I go over and clap Neville on the shoulder, and in passing I say, "If you don't mind, I think I'll sit the rest of this one out." 

"You're limping, Harry," Neville says. 

I nod. "Leg's hurting me. But it's alright. Don't be afraid to take whatever advantages you can get in a fight. You did great today." 

"Thanks," Neville says. "Are you sure you'll be okay? I didn't mean to actually hurt you or anything." 

"I'm fine, really," I say. "You didn't hurt me. I just haven't quite fully recovered from the injury I took over holiday. I'll go have Snape take a look at it and maybe give me a potion, alright?" 

"Just be sure he doesn't poison you," Neville says. 

I smirk. "He won't," I assure him, and limp off over toward where Snape is watching the students. 

"Your wound acting up again?" Snape asks. 

I nod. "Figured it would be best to take a break," I say. "I don't want to push it too much." 

"Sit," Snape says, pulling a potion out of somewhere and handing it over to me. "And drink this." 

I obediently take a seat beside him and drain the vial of its foul-tasting liquid. "Thank you, sir," I murmur. 

"I hear it was you who was responsible for suggesting this club," Snape says. 

I nod. "And I'm glad that it's you directing it, and not someone like Gilderoy Lockhart." 

"Who?" Snape says. "Oh, is that the bloke all the witches are swooning over who supposedly vanquished a number of monsters?" 

"Yeah," I say. "Such a joke. As you might have guessed, I doubt that he actually did anything that his books claim that he did. Sadly, Dumbledore is likely to want to hire him as a Defense professor." 

Snape makes a face. "Quirrell was a pleasant surprise, at least," he says. 

"Not really," I say. "Did Dumbledore tell you about him?" 

"What about him?" Snape wonders. 

I snort softly. "I'll take that as a no," I say. I wave my wand and mutter, " _Muffliato_." 

Snape raises an eyebrow at me. "The fact that you even know that spell is more proof that you were a close associate of mine in another life than any memory you offered." 

"Well, I did learn it from you," I say. 

"Yes, I created that spell," Snape says. 

"It's very useful," I say. "Anyway. Quirrell's possessed by the Dark Lord." 

"He _what_?" Snape says. 

"Yep," I say. "He's looking for a way to get resurrected." 

"And Dumbledore did not see fit to warn the teachers of this, not even me," Snape says. "Typical." 

"That's Dumbledore for you," I say. "Anyway, I've been keeping a close eye on Quirrell, myself. He's been behaving radically differently than before. Last time, he feigned incompetence to make everyone underestimate him. Now, I don't know what he's playing at. I'm wary of this." 

"I will watch him carefully as well," Snape says. 

"I'd honestly rather trust _you_ than Dumbledore, but Dumbledore didn't think you _'needed to know'_ ," I say. "I'm not going to rely on his judgment calls, however. I didn't even tell _him_ everything." 

"Is Quirrell an immediate danger?" Snape asks. 

"I don't think so," I say. "Not to anyone but me, at any rate, and I can handle myself if need be." 

"Yaxley," Snape says. "Did he have anything to do with Yaxley?" 

"I don't know," I say. "It's possible." 

"Don't tell me you snuck the dagger into the school anyway, did you?" Snape asks. "You did, didn't you. Haven't you considered that that might be exactly what he wanted you to do?" 

"That's ridiculous," I say. "That sort of plan would have required Yaxley to _lose_. I'm not going to assume that the Dark Lord is capable of playing a bizarre, omniscient roulette, employing absurd gambits within gambits that allow him to win even if he loses." 

"Perhaps it would be best to err on the side of paranoia," Snape says. "What did _you_ intend to do with the thing, anyway?" 

"Nothing, right now," I say. "But maybe you're right about the paranoia. I'll drive myself mad quick doing that, though, I think." 

"Better mad than dead?" Snape says. 

"Eh, it's alright," I say. "I think I'm already quite mad anyway."


	35. Lost and Found

Rispy catches me alone in my dorm one afternoon. He's dressed like a 'normal' house-elf again, in a sack tied with a piece of string around his waist. 

"Hello, Rispy," I say. "How are you doing?" 

"Well enough, I suppose," Rispy replies. "I've blended in with the house-elves here at Hogwarts and have been studying and observing them to start with." 

"So what have you learned?" I ask. 

"They're... happy," Rispy says. "But the thing is that they have no goals or desires of their own. They looked at me very strangely when I made the slightest suggestion of such. They might be happy, but they're still so thoroughly brainwashed that I don't even know where to start." 

I nod. "Change won't come overnight," I say. "I doubt it will even come in a single generation, especially considering that wizard generations can be long ones." 

"It's too slow," Rispy says. "We need a revolution. But happy people don't revolt." 

"I never said things would be quick," I say. "There's not much adventure to be had in it, either. But perhaps what they need is a good example." 

Rispy sighs. "I'm sick of wearing this garbage again already. Sick of pretending to be a good little slave." 

"So don't," I say. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore for an actual job? Let the house-elves see what a real elf can do." 

"Dumbledore would stoop to treating a 'mere elf' as an equal?" Rispy says. 

"He even employs a half-giant on the Hogwarts grounds," I say. "Try it. You might be pleasantly surprised." 

"Alright," Rispy says. "But if I'm not happy with the response, I'm leaving. Don't know where I might go next, but I'm definitely leaving." 

Rispy vanishes again. What was I doing here again? Right, I came upstairs to get something from my trunk. I wish I could just carry everything around in my bag, but it can only hold so much, unfortunately. I wonder how expensive a bag with unlimited capacity might be. 

I open up my trunk and sift through my belongings for my copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ to lend to Neville. I've already read through it all at least once, so I really have no need to carry it around with me all the time. I've also got all but one change of clothes in here, most of my higher level school books, most of my potion supplies, and other miscellaneous school equipment. I'll admit that the majority of the things in here are here to make it seem cluttered and be less obvious about something else I'm hiding in here. 

I tried carrying around the dagger with me in my bag of holding, but I was uncomfortable in doing so. The blood never did come off, and it still looks fresh and not dried at all. My discomfort in having it with me was probably just all in my head, but it was enough that I wanted it _away_. So instead, I tucked it away in my trunk, buried under layers of miscellaneous junk, sheathed and wrapped in cloth. 

Or at least, that's where it's supposed to be. My blood chills when I realize that the cloth that was supposed to be covering it is empty now. Ah, fuck. I frantically search through the rest of the trunk on the off chance that it got misplaced somehow. But no, there's no sign of it anywhere. The cloth was still neatly wrapped up, and I wouldn't have even noticed it was gone unless I'd touched it. 

It's not paranoia if I start thinking of worst case scenerios first. And that would be that the Dark Lord somehow planned all of this, and snuck into my dorm and stole it from me. In that case, we're all screwed. 

I sigh and close my trunk, and take _Hogwarts, a History_ down to the common room to hand to Neville. He seems to have suddenly become the most popular person in our year, somehow. He's surrounded by a cluster of admirers even now. 

"You're so brave, being able to be friends with Harry Potter," Lavender says. 

"And Neville's the only one in our dorm who can approach him while he sleeps," Dean adds. "I get such chills whenever I try, I can't even get close." 

"He's pure evil, I tell you," Seamus says. 

"Quiet, you, he's coming," Neville says. 

I pass the book over to Neville. "Here you go," I say. 

"Thanks, Harry," Neville says. 

I wander off to think. What am I going to do? I should probably tell Snape right away. This is bad. Even the best circumstances I can think of involve a random innocent student or house-elf with this thing, and that seems pretty unlikely. No, it had to have been Quirrell, somehow. 

I head out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the dungeons to Snape's office. He needs to be warned, even if it looks bad on me. I don't even know how long the dagger has been missing. It could have been several days by now. I've obviously been inattentive, and that's dangerous. 

"Yes, Potter, what is it?" Snape asks. 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus_ ," I mutter habitually. "Professor, the dagger is missing." 

Snape's face takes on a grave expression. "Bad enough that you bring this thing into the school, but now you tell me that you've _lost it_?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. "This was all a mistake, I know. But I thought you should know." 

Snape sighs heavily. "Fine, I'll give you credit for coming to me right away, if nothing else. But that doesn't even come close to canceling out your phenomenal stupidity that let things come to this in the first place." 

"Yes, sir," I murmur. "I'm sorry, sir. It was my mistake. I'll take responsibility for the consequences." 

"Fortunately for us, he is unlikely to try anything with it before the Vernal Equinox," Snape says. "If he were inclined to use it right away, he would have done so before you even realized it was missing. Until that point, we must do whatever we can to find and retrieve it." 

"I'll see what I can do," I say. "I still have detentions with him every Sunday." 

"See that you do," Snape says. "And keep in mind that this is all _your_ fault." 

"Yes, sir," I say meekly. 

* * *

"Dumbledore has many secrets," Quirrell tells me during our next session. "He holds them close, and lets no one see all that he has done." 

I haven't really had an opportunity to look around for the dagger yet, but I'm keeping my eyes open. "I know," I reply. "I don't really trust him." 

"Do you realize that he's hiding something within this castle even now?" Quirrell says. "He warned the students about that mysterious corridor on the third floor on the first day of school, after which it was quickly put out of mind. Do you wonder what he's keeping there?" 

"He didn't even tell you about it?" I ask. "Do you know something, Professor?" 

"He did not," Quirrell says. "But I have my sources, and I have discovered what it is that he's hiding." 

"What is it?" I ask. 

"Tell me, Potter. What do you know of the Philosopher's Stone?" 

"What's that?" I ask, feigning ignorance. 

"It's said to be able to transmute lead into gold," Quirrell explains. "And it's used to brew the Elixir of Life, that can grant a person immortality." 

"Wait, are you suggesting that this is what Dumbledore is hiding in the castle?" I ask. 

"Indeed so," Quirrell says. 

"Why?" I wonder, frowning. "I mean, I suppose he _is_ getting pretty old. And I have no idea what the Hogwarts budget is like..." 

"Who wouldn't want something like this?" Quirrell says. "All the wealth and life that you could hope for. Wouldn't _you_ find that appealing?" 

"Not really," I say. I already have more of both than I know what to do with right now. "I wouldn't mind studying it, though, but I don't know enough about alchemy to even know where to start, if I had it." 

"What kind of person isn't motivated by the prospect of immortality?" Quirrell says. "Don't tell me you're the sort that thinks death is merely 'the next great adventure' or some such nonsense, are you? I'd thought better of you than that." 

I shrug noncommittally. "Professor, at my age, the prospect of old age seems an awfully long way off to me." 

"True, I suppose," Quirrell says. "Tell me, Potter. If you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would you want?" 

"A dragon," I reply offhandedly, fondly remembering Norbert. 

"A... dragon?" Quirrell says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well, yeah," I say. "Dragons are awesome!" 

Quirrell sighs and rolls his eyes. "When given a choice of _anything_ , including immortality and phenomenal power, you would choose a _dragon_? You disappoint me, Potter." 

"Phenomenal power is nice, too," I say. "But dragons are in a whole class of their own. There's just no comparison." I can gain power and knowledge merely by patience and diligence, but I would have put it off a little if I could have spent a bit more time with Norbert. 

Quirrell mutters something under his breath, and then says aloud, "Silly boy. Run along, then. This session is over." 

* * *

By February, we still haven't found any sign of what happened to the dagger. I think I need to bring Hermione into this. She's way smarter than I am. I'd really like to tell her everything, but I'm not sure how I might break it to her. Still, I need to tell her _something_. 

So, one Saturday morning, I take her aside and say quietly, "Hermione, can we talk in private, please?" 

"Of course, Harry," Hermione says, putting aside the book she was reading and following me out of the common room. 

I lead her out to an empty classroom, and pull out my wand. " _Muffliato. Colloportus. Locus Timoris._ " 

"What's with the spells?" Hermione wonders. 

"I don't want any eavesdroppers or interruptions," I say. "This is important, and very secret. I trust you, Hermione, and I need your help." 

"What is it?" Hermione asks. 

"You might want to take a seat," I say, sighing. "This is going to take a while to explain, I think." We sit down, and I lean back heavily in my chair. "For starters, you've probably noticed that I seem to be ahead of you in every class, even when I intentionally try to downplay my abilities." 

"I've noticed," Hermione says. "And I've wondered about that. I'd figured at first that it was because you had prior practice, but that doesn't quite explain it." 

"Yeah," I say. "I'm a time traveler." 

"Ah, of course, that makes sense," Hermione says. 

"You aren't even surprised by that?" I say. 

"Not really," Hermione says. "If you were much further ahead or seemed more mature, I would have started suspecting it myself." 

"Wait, you think I still act like a kid?" I say, looking at her incredulously. 

"Well, yeah," Hermione says. "Despite all your composure sometimes." 

I snicker softly. "Alright, the truth is, I'm not eleven years old. I'm... twelve years old. Almost thirteen. I traveled back in time during second year." 

"That explains it," Hermione says. "You only have two years more experience than the rest of us!" 

"And second year was cut short by a terrible disaster that I hope to avert, as well," I say. "So I didn't even manage to _finish_ the year." 

"I see," Hermione says. "So what do you need my help with?" 

"Things are going very differently this time," I say. "I'm not sure what I did to get things off course, but events are happening radically different than I expected. I'd like to think that I'm intelligent, but I'm not as smart as you, Hermione. I need to figure out what happened, and..." I sigh, and rub my temples. 

"Tell me everything, then," Hermione says. 

"Okay, let's start by getting the facts on the table," I say. I give her a quick recap about Quirrell, the Dark Lord, the Philosopher's Stone, and then finally come to the part about the missing ritual dagger. 

Hermione listens, absorbing everything patiently. "This... can't mean anything good," Hermione murmurs once I'm done. 

"Yeah," I agree. "We've been searching for the dagger, but haven't been able to come across any sign of where it went. I don't even know how it got out of my dorm. I suppose Quirrell must have snuck in while I was at classes or mealtime, or something." 

"How would he even know about it, though?" Hermione asks. 

"I imagine someone in the room full of Slytherins who saw me with it might have said something," I say dryly. "And incredibly, not one of them mentioned it to the DMLE." 

"Well, they _are_ Slytherins," Hermione says. "But what if it wasn't Quirrell that took it?" 

"I wouldn't have put it past Snape or Dumbledore to take it to get it out of my hands and put it somewhere safer," I say. "But I'm sure they would have told me if they had. And lectured me about it. Draco might have known I had it, but he wouldn't have been able to get into the Gryffindor dormitory." 

"What if it was a Gryffindor who did it?" Hermione says. "For that matter, someone, like Quirrell, might have convinced one of your dormmates to do it for them." 

"Neville wouldn't do that," I say. "But I wouldn't put it past Ron or Seamus, or maybe Dean. Especially if they were convinced that they were taking an evil artifact away from an obviously evil person." 

"Quirrell might not have even had to go into the dorm himself to get it, that way," Hermione says. "We could confront Ron, Seamus, and Dean and find out which one of them did it." 

"Yes, but still, how would this help us find it?" I wonder. "Quirrell has it now, anyway." 

"You're _assuming_ that Quirrell has it now," Hermione says. "If he does, it would be a good idea to confirm it. If he doesn't, we need to start looking at other angles and find out who _does_ have it." 

I nod. "You have a point. Alright. We'll get Neville to back us up, and see about finding out the truth, then." 

I cancel my spells, and we head back to the common room. I glance around the room. Good, all of my dormmates are present at the moment. We approach Neville, who is scritching away at a piece of parchment at the moment. 

"Neville," I say quietly. "Sorry to interrupt your homework, but I think something was stolen from my trunk. I know _you_ wouldn't do it, of course. But could you back us up? We're going to confront Ron, Seamus, and Dean about it." 

"Alright," Neville says, frowning. 

Ron and Seamus are playing chess, and Dean is off doing his own homework nearby. Neville goes over and brings in Dean so that I can speak to the three of them at once. 

"What do you want, Potter?" Ron wonders. 

I fold my hands across my chest and watch them carefully. "Who has been poking around in my trunk? Something was stolen from me, and I want it back. I don't know which one of you took it, but I'm none too happy about this. I'd rather not have to do anything drastic." 

"Bugger off, Potter," Ron spits. "I don't know where your stupid evil dagger is." 

I fix him with a glare. "I didn't mention _what_ was stolen, Ron." 

"You're already shaping up to be the next Dark Lord, and I'm not going to stand for it, Potter," Ron says. "I don't know what you were intending to do with that vile thing, but it's good that it's out of your hands!" 

"What did you do with it?" I ask. 

"You think I'm going to tell you?" Ron says. 

I snort softly. "You have no idea what you're playing with here," I say. "How did you even know I had it?" 

"Professor Quirrell told me you had it," Ron says. "Told me that you were planning to perform some evil ritual with it." 

"Did you give it to Professor Quirrell?" I ask. 

"No," Ron says. "I put it somewhere that you're never going to find it. So you might as well not even bother to look, Dark Lord Potter!" 

I'm elated enough at that news that I almost smile openly. I'm no closer to finding it, but at least I know that Quirrell might not have it now. With the charms Lucius put on it, it'll be hard for anyone to find it at all. "Very well," I say neutrally. "I will spare you from retribution, for now." 

I turn and walk away, followed by Neville and Hermione. "What was that all about?" Neville wonders. 

" _Muffliato_ ," I murmur, flicking my wand. "Sorry I didn't explain the situation beforehand, Neville. I trust you, but we've been understandably trying to keep this under wraps." 

"Is it bad if you don't get this dagger back?" Neville asks. 

"It's alright," I say. "I'm actually pretty relieved. Right now, I just want to make sure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands." 

"With the anti-tracking charms on it, it'll be hard for anyone to find it," Hermione says. 

"Yeah, Ron is the only one who knows where it is..." I comment. Then I frown as something occurs to me. "That's not very secure, though. The Dark Lord is a skilled Legilimens. He could just pluck the location from Ron's mind, or control him with the Imperius Curse, or something. Argh, not relieved anymore!" 

"Wait, You-Know-Who is involved?" Neville says in alarm. 

"I need to see Professor Snape _right now_ ," I say. "Hermione, could you fill Neville in, please?" 

"What should I tell him?" Hermione asks, looking at me imploringly. 

Hermione isn't an Occlumens either. The Dark Lord could find out about the time travel from _her_ mind now. Damn it, too late to worry about that now. She might have figured it out on her own, anyway. And if anyone can learn Occlumency, Hermione can. Neville, on the other hand... "About the dagger and Quirrell," I reply. 

Hermione gives a nod. "Alright." 

I make my way out down to Snape's office. Why didn't I think of questioning them sooner? I mentally thank Hermione for insisting on covering everything. Why didn't I think of asking Hermione for help sooner? 

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asks. 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus_ ," I mutter. "I don't think Quirrell has the dagger." 

"What have you learned?" Snape asks. 

"It was Ron Weasley who took it from my trunk," I say. "But he didn't take it to Quirrell. He said he put it somewhere that I'd never find it." 

"So Quirrell may not have it yet," Snape says. 

"But he could still take the information from Ron's mind, or force him to go retrieve it, or something," I say. 

"Legilimency isn't always quite that easy," Snape says. "But you make a good point. We still ought to find it." 

"Couldn't you use Legilimency on Ron yourself to find out where he put it?" I ask. 

"I could," Snape says. "But if I solve this problem for you, _you_ won't be seeing that dagger again yourself." His lips quirk into a bit of a smirk. "Are you willing to pay that price for my assistance?" 

Right, I didn't think of that. I rub my temples. Is my pride really worth it? I have no idea what I might actually do with the dagger myself, anyway. "Fine," I say. "I really don't care if I never see the thing again. Just keep it out of the Dark Lord's hands." 

"Finally, you're being sensible for a change," Snape says. "Very well. I shall see about extracting the information out of the Weasley's brain. Dumbledore does not approve of using Legilimency on students, but under the circumstances, I can't see how even he would disagree. Return to your common room and send him back here at once." 

I nod, and head back up to Gryffindor Tower. Ron has gone back to his chess game in the meantime. "Ron!" I snap. "Snape wants to see you in his office, on the double! You're really in for it now!" 

Ron mutters and stands up. "Sorry, Seamus," he says. He heads for the portrait hole, but on the way, he grabs me by the collar and hisses, "I should have known that you were collaborating with that greasy git. Don't think you've heard the end of this, Potter." He releases me roughly and leaves. 

Hermione and Neville come up to me. "What does Snape want with him?" Neville asks. 

"Snape will get to the bottom of this," I say after muttering Snape's charm for privacy again. 

"You really trust Snape?" Neville wonders. 

"Absolutely," I say. 

"But, he's terrifying," Neville says. "And he looks obviously evil. And he takes points from you all the time, and he's really nasty in class. Why would you trust someone like that?" 

I grin at him broadly. "It's complicated," I say. "I'll just have to ask that you take my word on it, please. Alright?" 

"If you say so," Neville says dubiously. 

"What do you two know about Occlumency?" I ask. 

"What's that?" Neville wonders. 

"I haven't heard of it," Hermione says, frowning. 

"It's the art of protecting your mind from anyone trying to read it," I say. "In this sort of business, it is _vitally_ important to know it, or someone might just pluck information right out of your head." 

"I can see why that would be important to know," Hermione says. 

"If I buy you both books on Occlumency, will you try to learn it?" I say. "It will make me feel a lot better about sharing secrets with you if I know someone can't just take them from your mind against your will." 

"Of course, Harry," Hermione says. 

"I'll do my best," Neville says. "I can't make any guarantees, though." 

"It's alright, Neville," I say. "Just do your best and believe in yourself. Occlumency doesn't use a wand. It's all about learning to control your own mind. Magical ability doesn't have much to do with it." 

"Maybe I _can_ do it, then," Neville says, nodding. 

"I'll see about making an owl order, then," I say. 

"You know, if you want, I can cover the costs..." Neville says. 

"Forget it," I say. "I'm asking you to do this for me. It's the least I can do to provide the means." 

"Alright, then," Neville says. 

I head off to make the order immediately. No sense in putting this off. I kind of wish that I had bought some books on Occlumency right away, but I didn't actually need them myself at that point, and it didn't occur to me that I might want someone _else_ to learn it. 

During lunch, Snape wanders past me in the Great Hall and says, "Come to my office after lunch." 

"Yes, sir," I reply. 

Ron has been looking pretty sour ever since he got back from Snape's office himself, but he hasn't said anything about it. He has, however, been glowering at me even more than usual. 

I head down to see Snape after lunch. He casts several quick spells to ensure our privacy, and says, "It seems that retrieving the ritual dagger will not be quite so easy as I had hoped." 

"Did you find out where Ron put it?" I ask. 

"Yes," Snape says. "He hid it in the restroom on the seventh floor. However, there _is_ no restroom on the seventh floor." 

"Oh, great," I say, sighing. "Is it possible that his memory has been modified?" 

"I did not detect any signs of tampering, but it is possible," Snape says. 

"So, this looks like a dead end, then," I say. 

"Unless this mysterious restroom materializes, then yes," Snape says. "However, still, should you recover the dagger yourself, I must ask that you hold to your agreement and surrender it to me." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I will. I promise." 

* * *

A week later, I'm still worrying about the missing dagger, and it seems that now Ron hates me even more than he did before, if that were even possible. I went with Hermione and Neville several times this past week to scour the seventh floor, but we were unable to find any mysterious hidden restroom there. 

I've heard rumor about a strange clothes-wearing elf helping out Kettleburn and Hagrid with the magical beasts. I've been meaning to visit Rispy, but I've been so concerned about finding the ritual dagger that I haven't made time for it. So the next Saturday, I decide to go see him. 

"Harry," says Neville as I pass through the common room. "Hermione and I are doing Defense homework. Want to join us?" 

"Maybe later," I say. "I'm heading out to see a friend at the moment. You want to come with for a bit? We can come back and do homework afterward." 

"Sure," Neville says, and the two of them follow along after me. 

"Who is this friend?" Hermione asks. "Which house is he in?" 

"He's not a student," I say. "His name's Rispy." 

We arrive at the right place eventually. Care of Magical Creatures isn't available until third year, so I haven't had a chance to take it yet. It takes a bit of searching and asking paintings to find the place we're looking for. Sure enough, there's Rispy, dressed up in real clothes again with a dagger strapped to his belt. 

"Oh..." Hermione says upon seeing him. "What is he?" 

Rispy looks up sharply upon our arrival and gives Hermione a bit of a glare. 

"I'm sorry!" Hermione says. "That was awfully rude of me, wasn't it?" 

Rispy's expression softens, and he gives her a smile. "Apology accepted," he says. "Although I must say I much prefer that sort of reaction to the attitudes of many wizards who are familiar with we elves." 

"This friend you mentioned is a house-elf?" Neville says incredulously. 

"Case in point," Rispy says, glaring at Neville instead. 

"Rispy, these are my friends, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom," I say. "Guys, this is Rispy. Do _not_ call him a house-elf." 

"Sorry," Neville says. 

"I am a free being, and I do not approve of the institutionalized slavery of my people," Rispy says, approaching us. "But if you are willing to refrain from treating me as a lesser being, I will be happy to be your friend." 

As he comes closer, my eyes fall upon the weapon at his waist. It's a different one than he had before, with an ornate hilt. It looks familiar... 

"Rispy, where did you get that dagger?" I ask. 

"I found it in the Come-and-Go Room," Rispy says. "Stuff gets misplaced there all the time. The other elves weren't sure who it belonged to, and I liked it, so I claimed it as my own." 

"May I see it?" I ask. 

"Sure," Rispy says, taking it off and handing it to me. 

I pull the dagger out of its sheath and examine it closely. Sure enough, it's the same dagger, still stained with fresh blood. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Rispy," I say. "You are my fucking savior." 

"Huh?" Rispy says, looking at me in confusion. 

"Is that...?" Hermione says, peering over at it. 

I put the dagger back into its sheath. "Look, I promised to take this back to Professor Snape if I found it," I say. "But I'll buy you a new weapon. I'll have it custom made with all the expensive enchantments you could possibly want." 

"You were looking for that dagger?" Rispy says. "Well... I suppose it wasn't mine to begin with, then." 

I reach down and hug Rispy tightly. "Thank you _so_ much," I say. "You've just totally saved my skin." 

"But I certainly won't complain about taking up your offer of a shiny new weapon," Rispy says with a grin. 

"Make me up a wish list of what you want it to do," I say. "And I'll see what I can do." I gesture to Neville and Hermione. "I'd best get this to Snape right away." I tuck it away in my bag of holding for the moment. 

As we're walking away, Hermione says, "So what's this about elvish slavery?"


	36. Slaves and Servants

"Professor, I've retrieved the dagger," I say, pulling it out of my bag and passing it over to Snape. I'm alone again, Neville and Hermione having opted to return to the common room and not being overly eager to spend more time with Snape than necessary. 

Snape takes it and looks at me appraisingly. "I'm surprised, Potter," he says. "I did not expect you to actually bring this back to me." 

"Which did you doubt?" I ask. "My ability to find it, or the sincerity of my promise?" 

"Both," Snape says wryly. 

"If I intended to break a promise, I would not have made it," I say, chuckling softly. "I'll trust you to take care of that however you deem fit, then. I should get back to my common room and help my friends with their Defense homework." 

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione says, "Oh, Harry. Neville's been filling me in on house-elves. Why didn't you tell me about the horrible enslavement situation before?" 

"It's not really any big secret," I say. "Wizards just don't talk about them much, anymore than they frequently discuss the carpet." 

"That's terrible!" Hermione says. "We should really do something about this. Slavery is awful!" 

"I agree with you completely," I say. "And I've already been making an effort to alleviate the situation. Just, other things have been taking up my mind lately." 

"Thank you for introducing me to Rispy," Hermione says. "I'll be certain to visit and speak with him regularly. Perhaps we can coordinate efforts." 

"Um..." Neville says sheepishly. "I wouldn't mind helping, too, if I can, I suppose." 

"We can start a group for it!" Hermione says. "And we can hand out pamphlets and make buttons for it." 

"Sure, alright," Neville says. "What should we call it?" 

"Hmm," Hermione says. "Let's call it 'Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status'." 

"Well, I suppose that would make a decent slogan," I say. "But for a name, we need something snappier." 

Hermione thinks for a few moments. "How about 'the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare'?" 

"That's still not really snappy," I say. 

"Spew?" Neville says, raising an eyebrow. 

"S.P.E.W.," Hermione says, carefully enunciating each letter. 

"Um..." I say, working up my face. "Maybe we should try to think of something else. But right now, why don't we get our homework out of the way first?" 

* * *

"Ravenclaw's secret heir is mad, I think," Draco says. I've slipped over to the Slytherin table for dessert today, and am munching on a slice of rich cherry pie. 

"What, the SPEW thing?" I say. 

"Yeah," Draco says. 

"That reminds me." I pull out a SPEW button from my bag of holding and toss it over to him. "That one's for you." 

"You don't expect me to wear this thing, do you?" Draco says, looking at me incredulously. 

"Yep," I say. 

"I really do hate you sometimes, Harry," Draco says, smirking as he flips it around in his fingers. "You'll totally owe me for this, though." 

"I don't intend to mistreat my minions," I say lightly. 

"You... gah," Draco says. "You talk all about how you don't intend to be a Dark Lord, but sometimes you _say_ these things..." 

I snicker softly. "What can I say? Everyone already thinks I'm evil anyway." 

"You don't have to _encourage_ that sort of thinking, though," Draco says. "It's far preferable to not be overtly evil, after all." 

"Oh, by the way," I say, pulling out a bag of SPEW buttons and handing them over to him. "Hand these out to your friends." 

"Seriously?" Draco says, sighing and taking the bag. "Alright, alright." 

"Hermione _was_ going to charge for them, but I just tossed her a bag of galleons and started handing them out to people," I say, smirking. "I didn't manage to convince her to choose a different name, though, sadly. At least we didn't let Rispy name it, though. He suggested calling it the Elvish Liberation Front." 

"Bah," Draco mutters. "Why do I have to be your lackey, anyway? I'm the one that's supposed to have lackeys. And why do you care so much about house-elves? Are you going to start promoting Muggle welfare next, too?" 

"Nah," I say. "Elves are magical creatures, just like us. I don't really care what happens to Muggles." 

"So you don't want people to mistreat house-elves, but you don't mind if they slaughter Muggles?" Draco says. 

"Sure, why not?" I say. "Killing is nice and clean." Far preferable to torture, rape, and enslavement. 

"You're a very strange Dark Lord," Draco says. 

* * *

One Sunday in March, I come to Quirrell's office for our weekly session. Lately, he's been giving me at least as much propoganda as dark magic practice. Today, however, he asked me to come straight after breakfast, rather than in the evening after dinner. Is he planning an all-day session? 

"Good, you're here, Potter," Quirrell says. "There are important matters I must discuss with you. Have a seat." 

"Are we not having a practice session today?" I wonder. 

"Such an eager pupil," Quirrell says with a small grin. "I'm afraid not. But I have something else here that may interest you." 

He pulls out an object wrapped in cloth and sets it upon the desk. Pulling forth the cloth reveals a roundish black object that I immediately recognize. 

"A dragon egg!" I breathe, eyes widening. 

"I thought that might catch your attention," Quirrell says. "So, do you want it?" 

"I-- what?" I say. "Of course I want it!" 

"It's yours," Quirrell says. "If... if you do one small task for me." 

My heart sinks as I look away from the egg up at him. "What is it?" I ask, dreading whatever the answer might be. 

"The Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell says. "I'd like you to go retrieve it for me. You might not be interested in it, but _I_ am. And I am concerned about what Dumbledore might do with such an object." 

"Why me?" I ask. 

"You are my most competent pupil," Quirrell says. "I am certain that you will succeed where others might fail." 

"Why not just go yourself, I mean?" I wonder. 

"I will if I must," Quirrell says. "But I fear Dumbledore may have placed traps around it specifically with me in mind. You, however, are an unknown factor. He would not be expecting _you_. In fact, he may well have intended _you_ to be the one to obtain it, given your status." 

I keep my face neutral, but I look at him with hard eyes. "I think you just don't want to risk yourself," I say. "You want to send me instead, because whether I succeed or fail, you still win. If I succeed, you have the Philosopher's Stone. If I fail, you have Harry Potter dead." 

"Why would I wish you dead, Potter?" Quirrell says. I feel a sharp thrust against my Occlumency barriers. 

"I don't even need to answer that," I say with a snort. "I won't do it." 

"Don't you want a chance to prove your skills?" Quirrell says. "To demonstrate everything you've learned?" 

"I will not do it," I say, gritting my teeth. "If you want the Stone, you'll just have to get it yourself. Or find another sacrificial lamb. I'm not dying for you." 

"You disappoint me, Potter," Quirrell says coldly. "I had really thought better of you. Here I have taught you and aided you for months. I have gone out of my way to obtain a dragon egg for you, in order to fulfill your greatest desire. And this is how you repay me?" 

"Don't act like I'm the villain here," I say. 

"Why do you think I'm the villain?" Quirrell says. Another attack at my barriers. "What have I done to deserve that?" 

"You..." I clench my fists, then release them, steadying my breath. I must remain calm. I must not allow even the slightest gap in my defenses. 

"You _know_?" Quirrell says, eyes widening as he looks at me incredulously. Something must have gotten through before I strengthened my shields again. "How did you find out? How long have you known?" 

"Does it really matter?" I ask. "I'm not resurrecting the Dark Lord for a dragon egg." 

"Very well," Quirrell says, giving me a look of pure ice. "We'll just have to do it this way, then. _Imperio_." 

My mind clouds for a moment. What a wonderful sensation. I feel light, worry free, without a care in the world. 

_You want to help me_ , hisses a voice in my head. "You want to help me, don't you?" Quirrell says aloud. "I offer you so much... There's this lovely dragon egg, waiting to be yours." 

"Yes... of course..." I murmur. "Of course I want to help you." 

_Then go and bring me the Philosopher's Stone_ , whispers the voice. "Then go," Quirrell says. "When you have retrieved the Philosopher's Stone, bring it back here. Bring it to me." 

"I will do so, sir," I say. I give a bow and head out of the room. I'm excited at the prospect of pleasing him. I would do anything for him. Nothing else matters. 

I arrive at the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor, and pull out my wand. " _Alohomora_ ," I cast. The door unlocks with a click, and I step inside. 

Fluffy, the enormous three-headed dog, waits for me on the other side, slavering at the mouths. My mind whirls for a moment as I remember how to get through this place. There are many traps down here, but I already know the solutions. 

I sing, "Once in the starriest land of the Tavers / Yor was the king and the dragon of might / frightening golden-red Scregor o'er Taverak / filled all of the daytime with night." 

Fluffy quickly falls fast asleep, allowing me to slip past into the trapdoor. I jump through into the Devil's Snare, cast an _Incendio_ , and move on into the room with the flying keys. 

" _Accio_ key," I say. Nothing happens. Well, I didn't think it would be that easy. " _Accio_ ornate silver key with blue wings," I try. That might have caused one of the keys to twitch a bit for a moment. I'm not very good at this charm yet. I grab a broomstick and fly up into the air. " _Accio_ ornate silver key with blue wings," I repeat. At least that makes it move enough that I can tell where it is. " _Immobulus!_ " I cast at the key in question. It freezes in place, allowing me to swoop in and grab it easily. 

I pass through the door and into the chess room. I'm still not very good at chess, especially with not having practiced with Ron recently. I go to take the queen and start to play. I think I might need some help with this one. 

_Move the knight_ , suggests the voice in my head. I diligently follow my master's instructions. _Now the rook_. Soon enough, I've won the game and passed into the next room. 

This room, however, does not contain a troll as I was expecting. Instead, it appears to be some sort of maze. This is different. I step inside, and immediately slip and fall onto my ass. The floor is slick as ice, and no matter what I try, I can't get any grip on it. My flailing about only sends me spinning around in circles. Well, this is troublesome. I must find a way through to the Philosopher's Stone. I don't want to disappoint my master. 

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I cast on myself. That doesn't really help, though, since I can't actually manage to lift myself. " _Thermos_ ," I cast at the floor. " _Incendio_." No help, it's not actually ice, it seems. " _Spongify_ ," I cast. The floor becomes soft and springy, so I try to bounce down the corridor. My movement is completely uncontrolled, however. I'm not going to get anywhere like this. 

In irritation, I start flinging offensive spells at the far wall. " _Flipendo!_ " As I cast it, I find myself sliding backwards a bit, and bump up against the wall behind me. That's strange. There must be some very peculiar magic at work here. I point my wand to the wall behind me and cast, " _Flipendo!_ " This time, I'm pushed forward. I don't really understand it, but whatever works, I suppose. 

I make my way through the maze and into the potions room. I don't even bother looking at the scrap of paper. I remember which was the correct one. I pick up the smallest bottle and drink it down, and head through into the final chamber. 

The Mirror of Erised sits in the center of the room, and I approach. Within the mirror, I see the image of myself kneeling before the Dark Lord, handing over the Philosopher's Stone to him. Oh, right. This isn't going to work. I'm under the Imperius Curse. My greatest desire at the moment is to do my master's bidding. But in order to do my master's bidding, I'd need to not be under the Imperius Curse. 

The spell snaps, and the image in the mirror shifts. Now it's showing the usual image of myself as a powerful adult, surrounded by my family and friends. Did I shake off the spell, or did he release me? 

My blood chills and my stomach knots as my mind processes what just happened. That bastard was controlling me! He was forcing me to do his bidding against my will. He enslaved me so thoroughly that I could only be happy about what was done to me. I thought I understood why Rispy was so angry before, but now it's _personal_. 

I don't want the bloody Philosopher's Stone. I turn around and go back the way I came. Which one of these potions will take me out of here again? I don't know. Oh, right, I never actually made it out of here last time. I grab one at random and take a drink. 

Immediately, I feel like I'm being burned from the inside out. Crap, that one must have been poison. I collapse, gasping. Wait, there's a bezoar in my pocket. I fumble around, trying to grasp for it. There it is! My hands are shaking. I drop the bezoar. I can't see where it went. 

I die, thinking myself incredibly stupid. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory. I wish that was only a nightmare. Dying a horrible death is bad enough, but _that_? I will not forgive him for this. I'm going to _kill him_. To the Abyss with the consequences. Rage burns in my veins. I barely remember to get dressed, then I grab my wand and head straight for the Defense office. 

"Potter?" Quirrell says as I come inside. "You're here early--" 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I cast. Quirrell's wand goes flying across the room. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " I have the element of surprise, but the spell only barely manages to affect him. I press my attack. " _Tentacula Tenebrae!_ " Black tentacles spring into existence, grasping at him, holding him in place. 

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" Quirrell demands. 

" _Killing you_ , what does it look like?" I say. 

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Quirrell murmurs. Even without his wand, the spells affecting him vanish. He snaps his fingers, and my wand flies out of my hand. "You are nowhere near the level required to play this game, Potter." 

"Damn you," I snarl. " _Fulgoris!_ " Even without _my_ wand, lightning shoots from my fingertips. It slams up against an invisible shield a foot away from him, and dissipates. 

Quirrell's wand flies back into his hand. Ropes appear around me, holding me tightly in place. "Foolish boy," Quirrell mutters. "Now, praytell, _why_ do you want to kill me?" 

"I _hate_ you!" I snarl. "I want you to _die_!" I feel something slip through the storm of raging emotions around me. Legilimency? I'm out of control. I can't keep him out like this. 

"I see," Quirrell says, his lips twitching. "Most intriguing." 

"Shit," I mutter. My anger cools, and I push him out of my mind again, but it's too late. He's seen too much already. 

"You are a most fascinating young man," Quirrell says. "It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste. But this simply won't do. I'll just have to put a Memory Charm on you." 

" _No_." My blood runs cold in dread. 

"No?" Quirrell says mockingly. "And why should I not?" 

"I'd rather die," I say. "Kill me first. Or Imperius me. Or I'll even help you _willingly_. Just don't Obliviate me." 

"Do you value your memories that highly, Potter?" Quirrell asks. "Even above whatever principles you may have?" 

"Yes," I say. "If you're going to threaten me with _that_ , then I'll do anything you want." 

"Anything, Potter?" Quirrell says with a small grin. 

I sigh and close my eyes. "Yes. Anything. I wouldn't say 'anything' if I didn't mean it." 

"Then bring me the Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell says. 

"Very well," I say. "If that's the price I must pay, then I will do it. But if I do this for you, may I request that you please kill me afterward?" 

"If that is your desire, then I will grant your wish," Quirrell says, releasing me from my bonds and returning my wand to me. 

"Thank you," I murmur. "I'll be back shortly." 

"See that you do," Quirrell says. 

I head out to the Forbidden Corridor again. This was my own mistake. I must pay the price for it. And as tempted as I am to betray him, I will not be an oathbreaker. I make my way in past the traps, only the chessboard giving me any real headache, and arrive at the Mirror of Erised. 

So, how is this supposed to work? It's obviously not going to let me have it if I just want to give it to the Dark Lord. But I really _don't_ want to give it to the Dark Lord. I don't want to use it. I don't want anything to do with it. But I _must_ get it, nonetheless. 

I should just go drink poison and be done with this. But I made a promise, and I won't back out on that. Still, is it merely cowardice to request to die afterward so that I don't have to face the consequences of my actions What would happen if I were to live? I would wind up having to serve the Dark Lord for the rest of my life. I'd be serving a man I despise, as surely as if he were controlling me. Tears sting my eyes unbidden at the thought. I'm sorry, everyone, but I can't do that. I've made a terrible mistake. I need to undo this. 

I look into the Mirror of Erised. Please, show me the Stone. Give me the Stone. Even though I really don't want it. Inside the mirror, the image of me pulls a reddish object out of his pocket and gives me a grim smile. He drops it back into his pocket, and I feel a sudden weight in my real pocket. I look, and see, there it is. I've got the Philosopher's Stone. Too bad. I suppose I'll have to go give it to Quirrell now. 

I return to the potions room. I still don't know which is the right one to get back out of here. It won't really be my fault if I try my best and inadvertently drink poison anyway. I grab the round bottle on the far end and take a swig, hoping for poison. But no such luck. The potion feels cold going down, and I realize that I wound up picking the _correct_ one this time. What a time to guess _right_. 

I make my way back out past the previous rooms and out of the Forbidden Corridor. Right outside the door, Quirrell is waiting. Clearly, he didn't trust me to keep my promise all that much. 

"There you are, Potter," Quirrell says. "Did you get it?" 

I pull it out of my pocket and hand it over to him. "There," I say. "Take it." 

"Excellent!" Quirrell says, eyes practically lighting up as he takes the Stone. "Now, for your reward... I'll give you a choice. How would you like to die, Potter?" 

I think about that for a few moments. "I'd like to die fighting, sir," I say. "I know I don't stand a chance against you, and I really don't deserve an honorable death at this point... but it's terrifyingly beautiful to watch you in action." 

Quirrell chuckles softly. "Very well," Quirrell says. "You have served me well, so I shall humor you. You are a unique individual, Potter. Perhaps in another life, you might someday serve me of your own free will. But for now, let us duel." 

We take our positions and bow to one another. The entire school is at breakfast at the moment, so little danger of anyone noticing us, although I imagine Quirrell probably cast a spell to discourage anyone from wandering into the area for the moment anyway. 

Quirrell is not a handsome man, but the way he _moves_ when he's serious about battle. The Dark Lord's deadly grace really shows through. I can tell he's holding back, however. He's not immediately incapacitating me, but rather drawing it out and letting us trade curses for a bit. He must be very happy with me at the moment. 

Then, a curse strikes me across the torso, splitting my insides open diagonally. I collapse to my knees, then to my face, clutching my chest and abdomon in pain. It's over now. He steps up over my dying body. 

"Thank you," I murmur. 

"Farewell, Harry Potter," Quirrell says. 

* * *

I wake with a sigh in the Gryffindor dorms. I'm a bit tired, but I ignore it. I'm not going to be so foolish anymore. I'm not going to die again today. 

As I'm getting dressed, it occurs to me that he kept calling me Harry Potter right up to the end. Even though he penetrated my Occlumency barriers, he didn't figured out that I'm actually Lexen Chelseer. I don't know how much he managed to learn, but what does it mean if he didn't learn _that_ , even though he obviously discovered my time travel powers? Does it mean that I've actually started to _think_ of myself as Harry Potter? 

No matter. I have other things to worry about at the moment. Like what I'm going to do about Quirrell. Thinking more calmly and logically, the best thing to do would be to simply go and tell Snape or Dumbledore about what he has planned. Or, Abyss, even just tell Hermione. She could figure something out, I'm sure. There's really no need to stubbornly try to solve everything myself, especially when I've already died twice today. 

Still, I consider going to him to try to negotiate or something. Convince him to put off his plans for a bit and at least wait until the end of the school year before making his move, for good or ill. But that's merely a selfish desire to get a few more months of teaching out of him. 

I head straight for Dumbledore's office before breakfast. If he decides that being stupid is a good idea, then that won't be my fault. 

"Headmaster," I say. "Quirrell's planning to make a move today." 

"What have you learned, Stormseeker?" Dumbledore asks. 

"He's got a dragon egg in his office right now," I say. "He wants to use it to try to bribe me to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone for him." 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Is that all?" 

I stare at him. "Is that _all_?" I say incredulously. "I just died twice because of this!" 

"What happened?" Dumbledore asks. 

"After I refused the first time, he used the Imperius Curse to try to force me to do it," I say. "But I couldn't get the Stone out of the mirror in that state, and the spell broke, and then I drank poison in the potions room." 

"I see," Dumbledore says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. 

"So, what are we going to do about this?" I ask. 

"Nothing," Dumbledore replies. "You should avoid spending time alone with him, however. But we must make him go after the Stone himself, if he wants it." 

I frown deeply. "I'm assuming that whatever trap you laid for him there is only going to work if he goes himself, right?" 

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says. 

I refrain from commenting that whatever this trap he has planned didn't seem to work last time. But it's hard to say, as I didn't get a chance to see everything that happened there. I rub my temples. I should really trust Dumbledore. After all, at least Quirrell would still be teaching Defense for a few more months, then. And yet, I'm not willing to just let this go. 

"Headmaster, I'm not willing to risk this," I say. "He killed me, he used the Imperius Curse on me, he even tried to Obliviate me. Even though none of this has actually happened in this timeline, this is all good indication that he won't hesitate to do such things to me in the future, given the chance." 

"You were willing to put yourself at risk in order to help to defeat Voldemort before," Dumbledore says. "You said as much when you first came to me. Are you going to back out now?" 

"Don't pull that on me," I say, narrowing my eyes. "It's bad enough that you've risked the safety of innocent children in hopes of luring the Dark Lord into a trap. Is it really worth it?" 

"Yes," Dumbledore says. "You have _no_ idea what he did during the last war. If there's any chance of stopping that, then I must take it, no matter the risks. It's regrettable if someone winds up hurt because of it, but so far you are the only one who has been harmed." 

"And I'm expendable, because I can't die," I say with a smirk. 

"Whatever you did, you've successfully attracted his attention and prevented him from turning his focus to any of the other students," Dumbledore says. 

"But no, you're right, I _don't_ know all he did," I say. "And yet I can't help but think that nothing is worth this." 

"I am not Voldemort," Dumbledore says. "I will not force you to do anything against your will. I can only give you advice and support. Ultimately, you must do as you see fit, even if I disagree with it. I won't discount the possibility that you may know something I do not, or have realized something that I have not seen, after all." 

I let out a deep breath. "I'm going to have Quirrell removed. And I won't tolerate any scheme that risks the lives of children again." Or more importantly, my own mind. 

"Do as you feel you must, then," Dumbledore says with a heavy sigh. 

I turn and leave Dumbledore's office. Breakfast is starting by now, but rather than going to the Gryffindor table, I head for the Slytherin table instead and take a seat next to Draco. 

"Good morning, Harry," Draco says. "Eating breakfast with us today, are you?" 

"Draco," I say casually as I start munching on waffles. "I need to speak with your father as soon as possible." 

"You could always just send him an owl," Draco says. 

I shake my head. "Not fast enough," I say. "Floo?" 

"Alright," Draco says. "Should we go now?" 

"Act normal," I murmur. "Don't draw his attention. Don't tip him off." 

"Who?" Draco asks. 

"Shh," I say. I quietly take a couple minutes to eat, and then stand up. "Come on." 

"Alright..." Draco says, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast and following after me. "We can use the Slytherin common room, I suppose." 

"You'd let me in there?" I say. 

"You're practically a Slytherin anyway," Draco says. "This way." Draco leads me off into the dungeons. "Pureblood," he says when we come to the entrance, and the way opens up into the Slytherin common room. It's been quite a while since I've been in here. Since before first year, my first time around. "So, what's this about?" 

"I want to get Quirrell arrested," I say. "Immediately." 

"Quirrell?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not going to ask why right now, but do you have anything he can be pinned with offhand?" 

"He's got an illegal dragon egg in his office right now," I say. 

"Hah! Seriously?" Draco says. "Yeah, that'll do the trick. Let me just call him up. With any luck, he'll be in Azkaban by lunchtime." 

A quick firecall later sets things in motion. We return to the Great Hall afterward, where breakfast is still going on. The two of us return to our seats and continue to eat as if nothing happened. 

I hope that someone shows up by the time Quirrell expects to see me in his office after breakfast, but apparently things didn't go through _that_ quickly. Too much to ask for, I suppose. Quirrell casts a meaningful look to me as he leaves the Great Hall when breakfast ends. I linger where I am, however. There's no way I'm going to give him another chance to fuck with my mind. 

"Nervous, Harry?" Draco says. 

"I just think Quirrell would kill me if I give him the chance," I say. 

"Why now?" Draco says. "He's been giving you detentions all year." 

"Just call it a hunch," I say with a smirk. 

I try to do some homework while I wait, but I can't concentrate. Not now. So I wind up killing some time with a game of Exploding Snap with Draco. I'm not entirely certain how to play and am not very good at it regardless, but I imagine it wouldn't make much difference given my current state of mind. 

And then, mercifully, a group of wizards arrive. I think they must be from the Ministry. Aurors, or DMLE, or something, I'm not too sure. They quickly make their way toward the Defense office. They seem to know exactly where they're going. I have to think that Quirrell is hardly the first Defense professor to have been arrested. 

Hermione and Neville come over to where I'm sitting. "What's going on, Harry?" Neville asks. 

"We're losing our Defense professor, hopefully," I say. 

"It's kind of a pity," Draco says. "He's awfully competent." 

"Of course he is," Hermione says. "I'd expect no less from the Dark Lord." 

"Wait, what?" Draco says. 

Hermione blushes fiercely and glances around hurriedly, but Draco's the only one in earshot. "You mean you didn't tell him, Harry?" 

"Heh, no," I say. "But I suppose it doesn't matter now, anyway." 

"You can't be serious," Draco says. 

The wizards return through the Great Hall, Quirrell in tow, and thoroughly bound up and unconscious. Lucius apparently arrived with them as well, and he comes over toward us. 

"Father!" Draco says. "We just arrested the Dark Lord!" 

Lucius looks at him strangely. "What's that now?" 

"Quirrell's possessed," I say. "I've been keeping an eye on him all term." 

"I... see," Lucius says. 

"But thank you for your assistance," I say. "I do appreciate it." I realize that Lucius Malfoy is a valuable ally to have, if I can stomach the price of his aid. 

"I suppose you would not wish competition," Lucius says with a smirk. 

"He was going to try to kill me," I say. "I rather take offense to that." 

"I see," Lucius says. 

"We don't have a Defense teacher anymore now, though," Neville says. 

"Say, Father, couldn't _you_ do it?" Draco says. 

"I don't--" Lucius begins. 

"That's a great idea," I say. 

"I'm certain you'd be brilliant at it, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione offers politely. 

Lucius sighs, and says, "I'll think about it."


	37. Another First Year Done

"Welcome, class," Lucius says. "I am Lucius Malfoy, your temporary Defense teacher. You will call me Mr. Malfoy. I am not a professor, and am not teaching this position in any official capacity. I am merely substituting until the end of the term for Quirrell, who is now in Azkaban." 

"What did Professor Quirrell do, Mr. Malfoy?" Parvati asks. 

"He was caught in possession of an illegally obtained dragon egg inside the school," Lucius replies. 

"Rotten luck," Ron mutters. "He was a brilliant teacher." 

"Fortunate for me," Lucius says with a smirk. "I'm not having to make up for an entire year worth of wasted time. It's not like I actually wanted to be teaching children, anyway. Now, for our subsequent lessons, we will be covering the finer points of the uses of hexes and curses." 

"Mr. Malfoy, isn't that _Dark Arts_ rather than _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts?" Lavender wonders. 

"They say the best defense is a good offense," Lucius says. "And if Dumbledore disagrees with my curriculum, he can always dismiss me." 

I have to snicker aloud at the chances of _that_ happening. This is going to be an interesting next few months, in a good way. 

* * *

"Well, if you had to take away our Defense professor, at least you got him replaced by someone who is also competent," Dumbledore says to me in his office. 

"Yeah," I say. "And this one, while also evil, at least isn't possessed by the Dark Lord." 

"Ah, yes, there's that, I suppose," Dumbledore says, sighing. "I do wish you had gone along with my plan, however." 

"One more thing needs to be addressed, I think," I say. "If you would please remove the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts at your soonest possible convenience? I'm sure Mr. Flamel might like it back." 

"Oh, he has several," Dumbledore says lightly. "But he's already opted to stop using them and die peacefully." 

I stare at him as though he's just said something positively insane. "Why would anyone ever choose to do something like that?" 

"After a long life, it's like slipping away into a quiet sleep at the end of a long, long day," Dumbledore says. "Sooner or later, we must all move on to the next great adventure." 

I put my face in my palms. "No thanks," I say. "I rather like being immortal, personally." 

"Perhaps you will change your mind one day, after spending many years, decades, and centuries living," Dumbledore says. "Perhaps then you will seek a way to end the cycle and finally let yourself rest." 

"I think not," I say. "And I cannot possibly imagine why anyone would _want_ to die, given the choice in the matter." 

"And yet you have killed," Dumbledore says, fixing me with an intent gaze. 

"So I have," I say. "Perhaps someday, when I have attained godhood, I will be able to return to every timeline that I have left behind, and fix everything. Perhaps I'll be able to give new life to all those who have perished. But that's a dream for another age." 

* * *

The next Saturday, I visit Lucius in his new office. "Hello, Harry," Lucius says, sighing. "How did I let you rope me into doing this again?" 

"Heh," I say, giving a faint grin. "I'm very persuasive?" 

Lucius snorts softly. "To be fair, it was more a matter of not wishing to disappoint Draco. But teaching children is not really my cup of tea." 

"The students love you, however," I say. "Although that's primarily because you refused to give homework." 

"I'm thankful that at least the previous part of the year was taught by a competent teacher," Lucius says. "However... How in the world did the Dark Lord wind up teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?" 

"That's not the worst of it," I say. "The worst of it is that Dumbledore _knew_ and hired him anyway, and refused to do anything about it no matter what he did. I was fine with that, up until the part where he killed me twice. And Dumbledore _still_ wouldn't do anything about it. That's why I called you in. Thanks for that, by the way." 

"Why didn't you tell me the Dark Lord was in Hogwarts?" Lucius asks. 

"I have many secrets," I say. "That was one of them. What would you have done if you had known, out of curiosity?" 

Lucius sighs and leans back in his chair. "It's been ten years. After he disappeared trying to kill a certain infant, we all thought he was dead and gone." 

"And many of you claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse in order to avoid retribution for your part in it," I say. He opens his mouth to retort, but I raise my hand and shake my head. "I won't ask if it were true or not. I've _been_ under that curse." I shudder involuntarily at the thought. "But I'm hardly going to judge either way." 

Lucius gives a small nod. "Those of us who remained free... We moved on. We made lives for ourselves. We had families. Things changed." 

"I understand," I say softly. 

"I wouldn't have gone out of my way to aid him," Lucius says. "But should he return and call me to his side once again, I will do what I must do. As it is, in such an event, I will need to claim that you tricked me, and I may still face retribution for it." 

"I see," I say. "I apologize for any trouble I may have caused you in the future." 

"I would have thought that you would be more alarmed by spending so much time around the Dark Lord, however," Lucius says. 

"Not really," I say. "He even gave me private lessons in the Dark Arts every Sunday." 

Lucius stares at me. "Why would he want to kill you, then?" 

"I think he wanted to use the Philosopher's Stone to resurrect himself," I say. "Dumbledore was keeping it in the school to try to lure him into a trap. He wanted me to retrieve it for him. I refused. Things went downhill from there." 

"Philosopher's Stone?" Lucius says, raising an eyebrow. "What was Dumbledore playing at? He risked the life of my _son_ for this?" 

"Yeah, I yelled at him about it myself," I say. 

"I am glad I only signed up for three months of this," Lucius says. "I don't think I could stand more." 

* * *

With Quirrell out of the way and the immediate danger having passed, I'm happy to spend the remainder of the term relaxing a bit. I never let down my guard completely, but at least I have a bit of a breather now. 

Still, there are preparations I intend to make before the next school year begins. I'll very likely be dealing with a basilisk next year, after all, and I don't want to make the same mistakes I did before. 

One weekend in May, I go to see Professor McGonagall in her office. "Professor," I ask. "Would it be possible to get extra credit for an extracurricular project?" 

"Mr. Potter, you are doing quite well in my class," McGonagall replies. "You hardly need extra credit." 

"Nonetheless, I have a project I wish to do, but I don't want to do it without supervision," I say. 

"There is wisdom to that," McGonagall says. "What did you have in mind?" 

"Well, you see," I begin. "I grew up on a farm. I got used to waking up hearing the roosters crow every morning at dawn. So I got this idea. What if I could transfigure a rooster into a clock, or a watch?" 

"Do you know how the inner workings of a clock function?" McGonagall asks. 

"Well... no," I admit. "But maybe I could just use the shape of a watch and then put a charm or something on it to keep the time?" 

"Hmm, yes," McGonagall says. "That might work best. An ordinary wristband in the shape intended, with a _Tempus_ charm attached to it, and probably a _Lumos_ charm to tell the rooster when to crow." 

When put that way, it certainly seems no more complex than turning mice into snuffboxes or beetles into buttons. "So, will you supervise, then? Make sure I do it right?" I ask. 

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "Once you have the shape down, I'd suggest that you go to Professor Flitwick for help with the charms." 

The next day, McGonagall has a rooster brought in from Hagrid's chicken coops for me. With her watching, I get to work. There's no need to be nervous. I have a firm image of what I want in my mind, and it's little different than anything I've done before. After several long minutes of work and concentration, I have a red and gold colored wristwatch, fairly ordinary and unadorned, aside from the moving image a rooster pecking away at nothing inside of the otherwise empty watch face. That part hadn't been planned, and it makes it feel kind of creepy at the thought of the poor bird trapped inside the glass. 

"Done, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall says, coming over to look at my handiwork. "Not a bad job. Nice touch with the rooster." 

I refrain from mentioning that was unintentional. She'd probably deduct points from my grade, if she were grading it. "Thank you, Professor," I say. "Will it stay this way? I don't want it to go back to being a rooster while it's on my wrist or anything..." 

"Of course, you don't know the Permanence Charm yet," McGonagall says. "Your inherent magic is strong enough to keep it this way for at least a few weeks if not months, but without a Permanence Charm, it'll need constant renewing to avoid reversion. Why don't you go ask Professor Flitwick about it?" 

"I'll do that," I say, getting up and giving her a bow. "I appreciate your assistance, Professor." 

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. 

I head over to Professor Flitwick's office next. Charms aren't really my strong point, and I have a feeling that getting them right might just take the remainder of the term. Perhaps I should have gotten started earlier. Along the way, I experimentally say, " _Lumos_ ," and press the tip of my wand up against the watch face. Sure enough, the rooster lets out an audible crowing sound, giving me some odd looks from a cluster of nearby Hufflepuff girls. 

"Good day, Mr. Potter," Flitwick says as I enter his office. "What can I do for you today?" 

"Professor McGonagall sent me to you for some help with some charms," I say. 

"You've been doing quite well in my class," Flitwick says. Yeah, that's because I have three years' worth of magical experience, rather than merely one. If I'm not careful, I'm going to fall behind when third year comes along. 

I show him the watch band. "I'm trying to make a watch," I say. "Professor McGonagall suggested _Tempus, Lumos_ , and Permanence Charms." 

"Hmm, what is this?" Flitwick murmurs, examining it closely. "Is this a transfigured rooster?" 

I nod, and press my still-glowing wand tip to it, causing it to crow again. 

"How clever!" Flitwick says. "Yes, the charms for a clock and light should be well within your abilities. They're both first-year spells after all. Making the spells permanent, however, is NEWT-level magic. But I'll cast that one for you if you can get the others applied to the object." 

"Thank you, Professor," I say, smiling broadly at him. 

"First, let me get that charm put on your transfiguration," Flitwick says, tapping the watch-to-be with his wand and muttering, " _Permaneo_." He hands the watch back to me. "Now, put that away for now. You can practice the charms on something else until you have down exactly how to do what you want to do." 

"Alright," I say, tucking it away into my bag of holding. "How do you attach the charms to an object? I've never done that with these sorts of charms before." 

"I'll show you," Flitwick says. "And then the tricky part will be in making it trigger the light spell at the correct hour to make the rooster crow." 

Flitwick gives me a saucer to practice enchanting, and gives a demonstration and explanation of enchanting objects with charms that weren't originally designed for use upon objects, and follows that up with a description of how contingency spells work and how to set them up. I take notes throughout his impromptu lecture and listen with rapt interest. This all sounds like _very_ useful things to know. 

"What is your wand made of, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asks. "Is that pine?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

"You are most fortunate," Flitwick says. "Pine is particularly good and forgiving about creative uses of magic. Now, you have the principles down? Good, good. Run along now and practice it on your own for a bit, then. I have papers to grade. Feel free to come to me if you have any further questions, or you have succeeded in accomplishing what you want to do and want the Permanence Charm cast upon them." 

"I will, sir," I say. "Thank you, sir." 

I return to the Gryffindor common room to continue working on it. I've already completed my homework, after all, and really have no desire to play around at the moment. I'm excited by this project, and quite glad that I decided to try it. It's simple enough that I should be able to manage it, and yet learning about enchanting objects and contingency spells will doubtless prove very useful in the future. 

"Why are you making a tea saucer tell the time?" Neville wonders, peering over at what I'm working on. 

"More importantly," Hermione adds. "Why does it think that it's midnight?" 

I snicker softly, looking down at the saucer blinking "00:00", and cancel my latest attempt at the _Tempus_ charm. "Alright, so I haven't quite gotten the enchantment down yet." I dig the rooster watch out of my pocket and show it to them. "I'm making a watch. Isn't that neat?" 

"Whoa, where did you get this?" Neville asks. 

"I transfigured it from a rooster," I explain. 

"Why a rooster?" Hermione wonders. 

"So it'll crow in the morning," I say. 

"Couldn't you just find a spell that can produce a crowing sound?" Hermione says. 

I suppose I could have, but my hopes is that since this _is_ actually a real rooster, it'll affect a basilisk just like one. 

"Well, _I_ think it's a brilliant idea," Neville says. "You're a way better wizard than I'll ever be, Harry." 

"Don't say things like that, Neville," I say. "If you've already decided beforehand that you're going to fail, you have little chance to succeed." 

"I suppose you're right," Neville says. "I _have_ gotten better. But it's all because you two have been helping me." 

"That's what friends are for," I say. "Nobody ever has to stand alone in the world." I point my wand at the saucer and mutter, " _Tempus_." 

"Well, you got it to say 99:99 now," Hermione says. "Is that really an improvement, though?" 

I chuckle softly and cancel this latest attempt. "Charms aren't really my thing," I say. "But I'll get it eventually. See, Neville. I'm not really all _that_ amazing. I just don't give up. I keep at it until I get it down, no matter how long it takes or how much work I need to put into it." 

"Have you gotten the Patronus Charm down yet?" Neville wonders. 

"No," I say, grinning a little. "But I haven't given up on that one, either. How's your Occlumency coming along, you two?" 

"I don't know," Hermione says. "I don't think anyone's even tried to read my mind lately." 

"I've been doing the meditation exercises the book you got me suggested," Neville says. "I don't know how well I could keep someone out of my head yet, but I think I feel calmer and more in control..." 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "I could probably convince someone to help test it out. I'll see what I can do." 

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Snape says. "You want me to help Granger learn Occlumency? Why?" 

It was pretty easy to convince Dumbledore to help Neville. Snape, on the other hand, is a different matter. "She's the smartest person in my year," I say. "And she spends a lot of time with me. She would have figured out something is odd about me sooner or later, even if I hadn't already told her." 

"I see," Snape says, frowning. "At least she's a _capable_ pupil. However, this is still taking valuable time out of my week that could be better spent on other, more productive things." 

"I'll compensate you for your time and effort," I offer. "What would you like? Money? Potions ingredients? Promises of future favors?" 

Snape sighs in resignation. "Very well," he says, shaking his head a bit. "I suppose that would be acceptable, given sufficient compensation for the trouble. What sort of potions ingredients can you offer?" 

"Dragon's blood?" I suggest. 

"Where would _you_ get dragon's blood?" Snape wonders. 

"I have my sources," I say vaguely. 

Snape looks at me intently, and says, "That is acceptable, so long as this isn't likely to get me arrested and sent to Azkaban." 

"Don't worry," I say. "I'm not hiding an illegal dragon out in the Forbidden Forest or anything." 

"That was a suspiciously specific denial," Snape says with a smirk. "No matter. I do not care." 

"Could I also get a Blood Replenishment Potion for each bottle of dragon's blood I bring you?" I ask. 

"Also suspicious," Snape says, snorting softly. "But fine." He peers through a shelf and pulls out a potion vial, and passes it over to me along with an empty bottle. 

"Thanks," I say. "I'll be back with the blood in a bit." 

"Feel free to have Granger come along with you when you return," Snape says. "I have this evening free. Might as well get started on it. The sooner I get this started, the sooner I get it over with." 

I return to my dormitory and carefully fill up the bottle with my own blood, and down the potion he gave me. I'd forgotten how woozy losing blood makes me feel when I'm _not_ about to die shortly afterward. 

I pass by Hermione on the way back out through the common room. "Hermione, are you busy?" I say. "I've convinced Professor Snape to help you with your Occlumency." 

"Snape!?" Neville says, looking pale. 

"Don't worry, Neville," I say. "I convinced Dumbledore to help _you_ with it. I figured you'd be more comfortable with that. But it's a very one-on-one thing, and he only had time for one student." 

"You got Dumbledore himself to teach me?" Neville says, eyes widening. "Wow." 

One of these lives, I'm going to have to learn Legilimency myself. I have a lot of things I want to learn, and I'm certain that there are plenty of things I'd like to learn that I simply haven't even heard of as of yet. 

"I was doing some reading, but it can wait if he wants to see me now," Hermione says. 

Hermione and I go down to the dungeons and into Snape's office. I pull out the bottle of blood, wrapped in a cloth, and pass it over to Snape. "There's the thing you asked for," I say. 

"Ah, good," Snape says, taking it and putting it away. "Come in and have a seat, Granger. Have you had much practice with Occlumency yet?" 

"Well, Professor, Harry bought me a book on it, and I've read through it five times and done all the exercises in it," Hermione says. "I just don't know if it's actually working or not without someone testing it." She glances at me questioningly. 

"Don't worry, he already knows everything I told you anyway," I say. 

"And rest assured that I do not _care_ what boys you have a crush on or any other silly, mundane things might pop into your head," Snape drawls. 

Hermione blushes a little. "Well, alright, I suppose..." 

"Now, let's test this out, shall we?" Snape says. "Prepare yourself." He pulls out his wand and points it at Hermione. " _Legilimens_." He frowns a little and shakes his head a bit, then stares at her intently for several long seconds. "Look me in the eye, Granger." The two of them lock eyes and continue to stare at one another for what seems like several minutes. 

"Am I doing it right?" Hermione asks finally. 

"How long have you been studying this?" Snape asks. 

"For the past few months," Hermione says. 

"Your skill is not perfect," Snape says. "I can tell that you're trying to keep me out. However... even I cannot penetrate your barriers." 

"Well, it _was_ taking some effort to keep them up," Hermione says. "You were really battering at them for a while there." 

"A sufficiently skilled Occlumens is capable of not only keeping out an attacker, but showing them false thoughts to make them think that whatever the Occlumens wants them to believe is true," Snape says. "However, you are already quite capable of protecting your own mind." 

"What would it take to get to that level of skill?" Hermione asks. 

"Quite a bit more training and practice," Snape says. "Likely along the lines of years." 

"Oh," Hermione says. "Well, I'll keep practicing my exercises, then." 

"See that you do," Snape says. "Not only do you need to keep out an attack you are expecting, but it needs to become second nature for you to maintain your barriers at all times." 

"Alright," Hermione says. 

"Dismissed," Snape says. 

The two of us head out of the office. On the way out, I murmur to Hermione, "You are _way_ smarter than I am. It took me two years to get to that level, and I still slip sometimes." 

"I'm going to have to keep working at it," Hermione says. 

"Me, too," I say, chuckling softly in amusement. 

* * *

It's not until after exams are done with that I finally get the enchantment on my watch right. Or at least, good enough. I head off to take it to show Flitwick. 

"I couldn't get it to light up when the sun is _actually_ coming up," I say. "So I just made it trigger at exactly six o'clock in the morning every time. That's probably more useful, anyway." 

"Well done, Mr. Potter," Flitwick says. "I think you have a promising future ahead of you as a wizard." 

"Thank you, sir," I say. 

"Here, let me see that," Flitwick says, taking the watch from me and examining it closely. "Yes, this is just fine," Flitwick says. "Here, I'll make sure it will last." He taps it with his wand and says, " _Permaneo_." 

I take it back from him. "Thank you, sir," I say. "I appreciate the help and extra lessons." I put the watch on around my wrist. The rooster clucks at me and tries to peck at the numbers. I chuckle softly and say, " _Lumos_ " and touch my wand to the watch face. The rooster promptly crows. Perfect. 

* * *

"Harry," Draco says. "You're going to spend the summer with us, aren't you?" 

"Of course," I say. "Hopefully nobody will try to kill me this time." I smirk. 

"I'll be certain to step up security this time," Lucius says. "It's simply embarrassing to have assassination attempts on my house guests." 

"How did you do on your exams?" Draco asks. 

"Doesn't really matter," I say offhandedly, shrugging. "How did _you_ do?" 

"Pretty good," Draco says, showing me the results. "Ravenclaw's secret heir is still beating me in everything but Defense, though. And you, of course, but you don't count." 

"You still beat me in Potions," I say, chuckling. 

"You are _so_ bad at Potions," Draco says, laughing softly.


	38. Opening Secrets

It's a beautiful summer at Malfoy Manor. The day after returning from Hogwarts, I'm reading in the sun, and I overhear a conversation between Narcissa and Lucius on the balcony overhead. 

"He seems like such a normal child sometimes," Narcissa says quietly, looking down at me. Not quietly enough, as I can still hear her. I pretend not to notice and continue to stare at my book. 

"And yet at other times, I wonder why no one seems to have noticed that he's _not_ normal," Lucius says. "Aside from the fact that the fools seem to think that he's _evil_." 

"It just seems strange, if it's all just a mask," Narcissa says. "I can understand keeping it up around others. But we _know_ his secret. Why does he act like a child even around us? Does he not trust us even now?" 

"I have to wonder sometimes," Lucius says. "I've watched him casting spells. He's above his level, to be sure, but I don't think his inexperience is entirely feigned at times." 

This is bad. They're starting to suspect. I've been trying to stay ahead of the game, but there's only so much I can do. Sooner or later, they will realize that I'm not from as far in the future as they think I am. I'm not that powerful and experienced. 

"Are you going back to teach at Hogwarts next year?" Narcissa asks. 

"Certainly not, no matter how much Draco begs," Lucius says. "I refused to even accept an official appointment or a salary. I have no interest in falling prey to that curse." 

"You got to spend more time with Draco, at least," Narcissa says. 

"It wasn't without its benefits, I'll admit," Lucius says. "It's delightful to see how well he's doing with his magic." 

"What did Harry wind up doing with that dagger, anyway?" Narcissa wonders. 

"Nothing, so far as I know," Lucius says. "Severus returned it to me and suggested I keep it somewhere safe, so I put it away in the hidden room in the basement." 

My ears perk up at that. "Strange," Narcissa says. "After going to all that trouble and sneaking it into the school..." 

"Perhaps he had a change of plans," Lucius says, sighing. "He keeps many secrets. I wish I knew exactly what his plans are. The Dark Lord never kept me apprised of his plans, either, but I owe no allegiance to this young man. Still, he has brought no harm to Draco, and I think it does our son good to have a friend who can be a real equal." 

They head back inside after a while and I casually resume reading. I feel a little guilty about eavesdropping like that. And yet, what's this about that dagger? Now I'm curious about the Malfoys' basement. They have hidden rooms? What else might they be keeping down there? 

So, I take a quick nap in the evening, and that night, while everyone is asleep, I take the opportunity to sneak downstairs and look around. " _Lumos_ ," I murmur, and shine my wand light around the place. I'm wary for traps and dangers, but I doubt they would have put anything too terrible where Draco could have stumbled into as a child. Now, in the places where a child _couldn't_ have readily stumbled into, that'll be another matter entirely. 

Where might a hidden room be found down here? There's a wine cellar, some storage space for boring, mundane items, and another room that's currently empty. I look around for secret doors, tapping at every wall with my wand. I check the floors for good measure, too, and behind and underneath every bit of junk. 

I spend around an hour searching, before it occurs to me that it probably has a password required to open it or something. Hmm, what's the Malfoy family motto? I don't remember, but I thought I saw it on a banner upstairs somewhere. I go up and look around. Aha, there it is. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_. 

I return to the basement, and start tapping every surface and murmuring, " _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_." After another hour of that and getting nowhere, I wonder what I might be missing. Perhaps I'm supposed to tap a specific series of bricks or something. It's a pity that the house-elves have kept even this part of the house spotlessly clean, or I might have just looked for recent footprints in the dust leading to a blank wall. 

Come to think, there _was_ a wall that seemed a little suspicious. I head over to one side of the storage room. Yes, there's something not quite right about this wall. I knock on it, and it sounds different from the other sections of wall. But how to open it up? I try poking at the strange wall in various patterns in combination with the family motto. 

Then, finally, there's a soft click and the wall swings outward as a door. What was it that did it? Ah, I think that was a sort of S movement. Wonderful. Now to see what treasures the Malfoys are hiding in here. 

I shine my wand light around the old room. It's much larger than I would have expected it to be, no doubt enlarged by magic. And it contains shelf after shelf of interesting artifacts. Remembering my first unfortunate excursion into Knockturn Alley, I'm careful not to actually touch anything for the moment. Not until I've gotten a good look around first. 

A suit of black armor, a sword, books bound in leather and silver, a skull that seems eerily as though it's watching me... There's the ritual dagger, sitting on a shelf. I ignore it for now, however. It's not why I really came down here, anyway. I could spend all night in here just looking at everything. But now that I've found the way in, I have all summer to explore the Malfoy house's secrets. I don't really intend to outright _steal_ from them, after all. Just look. And maybe borrow. 

* * *

A week later, I'm poking around the secret room at night again. I've only died twice to mishandling cursed objects, so I'm taking care to take a nap before coming down at night. I don't want to have to relive the entire day again. 

This night, however, I spot something that catches my attention. Tucked away in a corner of the hidden chamber, I find a thin, fairly mundane looking book, but I recognize it immediately as anything but. It's Tom Riddle's diary. What's it doing here? 

Putting everything else in the room out of mind for the moment, I grab the diary and head straight back upstairs to my room, excited. I put it on my desk and pull out a quill to write in it. 

"Hello," I write. "My name is Lexen Chelseer." 

It takes a few moments for the words to appear, but sure enough, they do. "Hello, Lexen Chelseer," the diary reads. "I am Tom Riddle. How did you come by this diary?" 

"I found it in the secret room in the basement of Malfoy Manor," I reply. 

"I see," Tom Riddle writes. "What is your relationship with the Malfoys?" 

"They're good friends and allies," I write back. "I am currently a house guest at Malfoy Manor over the summer." 

"Do they realize that you have removed this diary from their secret room?" Tom asks. 

"No," I reply. "I have many secrets. I'm not willing to trust them with all of them." 

"Who are you, really?" Tom asks. "How much time has passed since this diary was created?" 

"This will take a bit of explaining, I think," I write. "It's been around fifty years, I think. And as for me, well. I'm a time traveler. During the year before I returned to the past, someone has opened the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed a basilisk upon Hogwarts. It wound up killing half of the teachers and a number of other people in the process." 

"So did you come back to try to stop it, then?" Tom asks me. 

"Not precisely," I write back. "Although Hogwarts being shut down is an undesirable outcome all in all." 

"Indeed," Tom agrees. "So what do you intend, then?" 

"Tell me," I write. "Aside from, obviously, a giant basilisk, what exactly is in the Chamber of Secrets? I didn't really have much chance to look around last time." 

"Salazar Slytherin's private library," Tom replies. "As well as a small storeroom of old relics. You want them, don't you? But you are not of the correct bloodline, are you?" 

"I'm not a Parselmouth," I answer. "My ancestry is that of the Dragon's Blood. So, dragons, but no snakes, I'm afraid." 

"But you are a pureblood at least, yes?" Tom asks. 

"Of course," I write. "Well, so far as I know, anyway." 

"So far as you know?" Tom wonders. 

"Yeah," I reply. "My family _used_ to be really obsessive about the whole blood purity thing, marrying cousins and all that. Up until my great-grandmother refused the marriage that had been arranged for her, produced an heir with the most powerful wizard she could find who was only remotely related to her at best, and then married a Muggle and bore five Squibs that everyone tries to forget about. My mother and grandmother subsequently also looked for powerful wizards. I assume that my father and grandfather were purebloods, but I really don't know, as I haven't seen their family trees or anything. But I do know that they were really powerful." 

"I think I get the idea," Tom replies. "So, tell me. If you were to gain access to the Chamber of Secrets, what would you do?" 

"Study, learn everything I can, gain power," I write back. "See if there's any interesting artifacts that I might be able to do something with." And kill that basilisk at the first opportunity I get. 

"I see," Tom answers. "And what would you be willing to give for that opportunity?" 

I think on that for a long moment. "I don't care what happens to me," I write. "But I will not allow my friends to come to harm, nor do I wish the school to be shut down. Anything aside from that... is negotiable." 

"And who are those who you would call your friends?" Tom asks. 

I frown a little at that. I don't really like the sound of that. But, I reason, if it will ensure that those I really _care_ about will remain safe... it just seems like it's inviting bad things to happen to anyone I don't mention. I tap at my quill for a moment and start skritching out names. "Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco Malfoy. Neville Longbottom. Hermione Granger. Severus Snape. Rispy." I pause for a moment, and then add. "And Luna Lovegood. If anything happens to any of those, I will be very, very angry." 

"Tell me about Hermione Granger and Rispy," Tom suggests. 

"Hermione is a Mudblood," I write. "We call her Ravenclaw's secret heir. She's the best witch in my year. Rispy is a free-born elf. He's the most violent and bloodthirsty little shit I've ever run across." 

"I see. Very well," Tom replies. "I promise that I will do whatever I can to protect your friends, then." 

"So, can you get me into the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask. 

"I can," Tom answers. "I will, however, require a bit of your blood in order to establish the necessary magical connection, since you are not of Slytherin's bloodline." 

"Of course," I write. I open a drawer in my desk and pull out my potions knife, and slice open my palm, allowing several drops of blood to spill onto the open page and sink in. " _Episkey_ ," I murmur, pointing my wand at my hand and closing the cut. 

"Excellent," Tom replies. "That will be sufficient." 

"Thank you," I scribble. "I'll let you know when I'm back at Hogwarts, then. I should sleep now." 

"Good night, Lexen Chelseer." 

I tuck the book away into my bag of holding for safe keeping, and go to bed. I can't help but have a nagging feeling of worry about the deal I just seem to have made. 

* * *

Three weeks into July, I receive a letter from Dumbledore. "Stormseeker," he writes. "After last year's debacle, it behooves me to ask you about the next person who has applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. His name is Gilderoy Lockhart. He seems like an experiencd and capable fellow, but you no doubt have access to more information than I do in this matter. He doesn't have any terrible secrets that would cause him to be a danger to the students, does he?" 

I snort softly in amusement and write back, "Headmaster, Lockhart is useless, but harmless. The students won't learn much with him teaching, but at least they won't be in any serious danger because of him, either. Hire him if you can't find anyone better." I pause and frown at the paper, before adding, "Make sure to tell him that he can only put _one_ course book down as a requirement for his class. Preferably one he hasn't written himself." 

Satisfied with that, I give my reply to Solomon to take back. I'm going to have to figure out what I intend to do with Lockhart this year. I would really rather not bring him in on the conspiracy this time. 

* * *

"Come on, Harry," Draco says. "Put the book away. You can finish it later. We're going to Diagon Alley for our school supplies today! I swear, you read as much as a Ravenclaw." 

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I say, closing the book and shoving it into my bag of holding. I've emptied most of it out to make room for new purchases, however. 

"You haven't even been interested in practicing Quidditch with me," Draco complains. "How am I supposed to get picked for the house team if I don't practice?" 

I snort softly. "Quidditch is honestly the least of my concerns. Besides, you've got Crabbe and Goyle." 

"Yeah, but they're only good for getting practice dodging Bludgers," Draco says. 

"What's a Bludger?" I say disinterestedly. 

"How can you be my friend if you know nothing about Quidditch?" Draco wonders. 

"By helping you whenever you need it, keeping you safe from harm, and supporting you as much as I can," I say. 

"Well, support me in Quidditch, then!" Draco says. 

"Tell you what," I say. "If you get picked for the team, I'll go to every game you play wearing green, and cheer for Slytherin." 

Draco grins broadly at me. "Thanks, Harry." 

"Are we ready to go, boys?" Lucius says, entering the room. 

"Coming, Father!" Draco says enthusiastically. 

We take the Floo over to Diagon Alley and proceed to collect the supplies that Draco and I will need in the upcoming school year. Judging by the book list we got, it appears that Dumbledore took my advice and put his foot down about Lockhart demanding that every student in the school buy the full collection of his books. Instead, the same Defense book is listed that was used in the previous year, which I already have anyway since I bought all the current school books last year. 

"Oh, look!" Narcissa says out of Flourish and Blotts. "Gilderoy Lockhart is doing a book signing today! Isn't that splendid? He's such a handsome chap, too." 

I look at her incredulously. It was bad enough to see Molly Weasley doing that, but I had expected better of Narcissa Malfoy! "Narcissa..." I say quietly. " _Muffliato_." 

"What is it, Harry, dear?" Narcissa says. 

"You do realize he's a Mudblood, don't you?" I say. "And furthermore, he's a complete fraud whose only real talent is Obliviation?" 

" _What_?" say all three Malfoys in unison. 

"But I thought he was a pureblood..." Narcissa says, frowning. 

"Probably did some Obliviation to convince people of that, too," I say. 

"How do you know he's a Mudblood?" Lucius asks. 

"Long story," I say. "Suffice it to say that he admitted that while I was threatening him at wandpoint. After kicking his ass. In my second year. Oh, by the way, he's our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year." 

Draco groans. "I knew it was too good to last." 

"Be prepared for a lot of self-study if you want to get anything done," I say with a snort. "Hopefully Snape will keep the Dueling Club going so that the year isn't a complete waste of time on your part." 

I cancel the privacy spell and we head inside. I don't mention to them my suspicions that the Hogwarts teachers might have gotten so horribly slaughtered by the basilisk was because Lockhart tried to 'help' them. 

Sure enough, the minute Lockhart spots me, he exclaims, "Ah! If it isn't Harry Potter! Come over here, Harry. Let me get a picture with you!" 

"I'm afraid you'll have to speak with my agent, Mr. Malfoy, about licensing fees for my likeness," I say lightly. 

Lucius gives a small grin of amusement and says, "For you, Mr. Lockhart, no less than fifty galleons for a photograph with Harry Potter." 

"That's preposterous!" Lockhart exclaims. "It would be a privelege to be seen with me! Between the two of us, we'd make the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow, for sure!" 

"I tend to prefer that if I make front page news, that it be for more than merely walking into a bookstore," I reply. 

"But I have a splendid announcement to make today!" Lockhart says. "Dear Harry Potter here came into Flourish and Blotts just to purchase my new autobiography, _Magical Me_ \--" 

"No I didn't," I interject. 

"Little did he realize that he would soon be getting the real magical me, as his new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!" Lockhart finishes. 

"By the way, I'm going to turn your classes into 'naptime, part two', to follow up History of Magic," I say with a smirk. 

"How rude!" Lockhart says. "You clearly don't appreciate all the wonderful things I have done in my life. How I cured the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, how I defeated the--" 

"I've _read_ all your books," I say. "I won't recommend anyone else waste their time bothering with them." I address the crowd with that last bit. 

Lockhart sputters. "Obviously, you have allowed your own fame to go to your head and blind you to the accomplishments of others!" 

"Draco, you got your books?" I ask. 

"Yeah," Draco says. 

"Let's get out of here, then," I say. 

As we're heading out, Narcissa says, "That was a _little_ over the top, Harry." 

"But damn funny," Draco adds, snickering. 

The Weasleys exit the shop in a cluster shortly behind us. "I always knew that Potter boy was a bad seed," Molly says. "How he humiliated poor Mr. Lockhart!" 

"But, Mum--" Ginny says. 

"No buts, Ginny," Molly says. "Stay away from him. I don't want you associating with the likes of _him_." 

Ginny pouts, and casts what might be an apologetic look in my general direction for a moment before Molly drags her off to the next shop. 

"You're awfully popular with the Weasels," Draco says. 

"Public opinion is an awfully fickle thing," I say, shaking my head a little and sighing. It still seems a little strange, seeing those who I once embraced as a second family hating me, and instead being close to those who once hated me. 

"Is there anything else we need to look at, boys?" Narcissa asks. 

"Let's go look at brooms!" Draco says excitedly. "I'm going to need a fast broom if I'm going to play Quidditch this year!" He practically drags the rest of us off himself toward the broom shop. 

"We don't even know if you'll be picked for the team yet, Draco," Lucius says, following after Draco. 

"I better be!" Draco says. "If I can't have you as my teacher, I want to at least play Quidditch." He goes over to gaze at one of the brooms. "Look at that! It's the brand new top of the line Nimbus 2001! Isn't it magnificent?" 

"It's a broom," I say flatly. 

"Oh, come on, Harry, at least _pretend_ to be excited," Draco says. 

"Alright, alright," I mutter, chuckling softly and shifting my attitude quite deliberately. "Oh, Merlin! That's an amazing broom! I bet it's like, really fast and stuff! It's totally awesome!" 

"Now you're just forcing it," Draco says, laughing aloud. "Father, can I have it, please?" 

Lucius sighs and gives a small smile to his son. "Very well, Draco, if that will make you happy, then I will buy you that broom." 

Draco clings to his father in a sudden, tight hug. "Thank you, Father!"


	39. Breaking Secrets

Perhaps it was a bad idea to alienate Lockhart, but too late for that now. Besides, it amused me. Still, even having him as an ally kind of grated on me a little. Sure, he's pretty and all, but if given the choice, I'd rather have Neville on my side instead. 

I end up spending a fair bit of time writing to Tom Riddle. It's been bothering me not to have anyone I can really confide in. At last, I have someone that I can safely trust all of my secrets to. I'm not afraid if Tom knows who I really am, because he's not about to tell anyone. I'm keeping the diary on me at all times, and I'm not about to let it get stolen or throw it away. 

And yet, I don't tell him about my plans for the Chamber of Secrets. My real plans, that is. I don't mention my rooster watch, nor my intention of pre-emptively killing the basilisk before it even has a chance to hurt anyone. If I get to read some ancient tomes in the process, so much the better. But I'm not letting anyone die this time if I can help it. 

The summer finally comes to an end, and Draco and I board the Hogwarts Express. I spot Luna Lovegood sitting alone in a compartment, and tell Draco, "Hey, let's sit here." 

"Sure," Draco says, sliding in next to me and looking over Luna appraisingly. "First year, are you?" 

"Yes," Luna replies. "My name is Luna Lovegood. Hello, Infinite Dragon. Hello, Stormseeker." 

"Huh?" Draco says. "Oh, right, you're the daughter of the editor of the _Quibbler_ , aren't you. Infinite Dragon? I think I like that." 

Hermione pokes her head into the compartment. "There you are, Harry." She comes in as well, followed shortly by Neville. 

"Good, everyone's here," I say. I pull out my wand and mutter, " _Muffliato. Colloportus._ Everyone, this is Luna Lovegood." 

"Hello," Luna says. 

"Luna, you don't have fancy titles for them, too?" Draco asks. 

Luna shakes her head. "I'm afraid not. But I recognized you and Stormseeker's auras immediately." 

"Draco, do you happen to know Occlumency, by chance?" I ask. I really should have thought of this earlier, but it's far too late for him to know about the time travel, anyway. 

"Of course," Draco says. "Father insisted that it was an important skill to learn, so he hired me tutors for it before I even started at Hogwarts." 

"And Neville?" I ask. "How are you coming along?" 

"Dumbledore said I'm doing pretty well," Neville says. "So long as I don't look them in the eye, I can usually keep them out." 

"And what about you, Luna?" I ask. 

"I do not know Occlumency, but no one is likely to be able to read my mind, anyway," Luna replies. "They would not be able to comprehend the things I see." 

"I see," I say. "Alright." 

"So are you going to tell us what this big secret is now?" Neville wonders. 

"As some of you already know," I say. "I am a time traveler. I came back from the future. Not only that, but I unconsciously time travel whenever I would otherwise die. Usually, this sends me back to the morning of the same day. Rare circumstances, such as that I experienced at the end of my last time, apparently can send me back to the day I first died." 

"Oh, wow..." Neville murmurs. 

"That, by the way, is the primary reason why I'm doing better in our classes than anyone except Hermione," I say, smirking. "It's familiar material to me -- and I'm careful not to do better than Hermione, or it'll look too suspicious. With new material, I'm just as pathetic as everyone else. Perhaps a little better at curses, perhaps a little worse at charms, but that's it." 

"And useless at potions," Draco adds. 

I smirk. "Hey, I'm managing to attain the minimal level of competence to pass the class and avoid blowing anything up. I just have other priorities at the moment." 

"The storm is the heart of your power," Luna says. "You do well in anything you can connect to that, Stormseeker." 

"So, yeah, that's one of my big secrets," I say. 

" _One_ of?" Neville says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah," I say. "I have an even bigger secret, and I think it's time to let you guys in on it." 

"Even Luna?" Neville says. "We just met her..." 

"I _did_ know her in my last life, mind you," I say. "But she always knows the truth of the matter anyway." 

"Indeed, Stormseeker," Luna says. 

"For one thing, I'm not actually from the United States," I say. "I've never even been there. I'm from another universe, a world called Lezaria. I'm an interdimensional traveler, what we call an Elkandu." 

"How can that be?" Neville asks. 

"You see," I say. "I'm not Harry Potter." 

"Huh?" Draco says. 

I smirk faintly. "The real Harry Potter is dead," I say. "Dumbledore saw that I looked similar to him and I was about the right age, so he asked me to take his place. I don't know what kind of strings he had to pull to make sure everything, including Gringotts, recognized me as Harry Potter, but the truth of the matter is that I'm not actually him." 

"Who _are_ you, then?" Neville wonders. 

"I am Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer, the Stormseeker, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood." 

"Wait a minute," Hermione says. "Skywalker? Majere?" 

I nod. "My father's name was Anakin Skywalker," I explain. "My grandfather was Raistlin Majere." 

Hermione stares at me for a moment. "You can't be serious." 

"It's the truth," I say. 

"Is this some kind of a stupid joke?" Hermione exclaims. "What kind of a fool do you take me for? I listened to you! I believed you! I trusted you! You really had me going for a while there, but this is too much!" 

"Huh?" I say dumbly. 

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Hermione murmurs, and storms out of the compartment. 

I stare blankly at her as she goes, and then clap my jaw shut again and step out into the corridor. "Hermione! Wait!" I call. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong! Please come back!" 

"I'm not speaking to you, Harry Potter!" Hermione replies, and ducks into another compartment. 

I sigh and return to my seat. "Does anyone have any idea what that might have been about?" 

"I haven't the foggiest," Neville says. 

"It was the nargles, of course," Luna says. 

"She didn't believe you, obviously," Draco says. 

I rub my temples, then pull out my wand and cast, " _Muffliato_." I decide to leave the door unlocked just in case Hermione calms down and comes back. 

"I'm not sure _I_ believe you, honestly," Draco says. 

"Why?" I wonder. 

"I mean, I know about time travel, but I've never heard of other dimensions..." Draco says. 

"Because if you haven't heard of it, it obviously doesn't exist," I say dryly. 

"If you're from another universe, why did you come here?" Draco asks. "And how?" 

"The Elkandu have a powerful teleportation device called a Nexus," I explain. "It's capable of sending people to other worlds. As to for why? Why not? To explore, to learn, to gain power... to have some hope of saving my family..." I sigh. "The day of my first death, my family was slaughtered by a group of powerful dark wizards. My only hope of saving them is to gain enough power to defeat them and to go back in time to that morning again, before the attack." 

"Do you really intend to go up against the Dark Knight?" Luna asks. 

"I'll do whatever I must," I say. "And if it means trying to become more powerful than _him_ somehow, then I will do it, no matter how long it takes." 

"His mark is upon you," Luna says. "He's watching you." 

"That's not very encouraging," I mutter. 

"Do you really hope to someday go against someone of that level?" Luna asks. "There is perhaps more to him than you realize." 

"I know he's powerful," I say. "I know he's practically a god. But if that's what it takes to save my family, then _I will do it_." 

Neville asks quietly, "How did the real Harry Potter die?" 

"He fell down a staircase and broke his neck," I reply. 

Neville makes a face. "Something like that could have happened to me," he says. "My family was afraid I was a Squib at first, up until Uncle Algie dropped me out of a window, and I bounced." 

"Well, naturally," Luna says. "You are very resilient, Neville. Your power is that of the shield." 

I assume that means that Neville's inborn talent makes him what the Elkandu would call a Security Mage, also known as a Warder. That would definitely be a valuable person to have on my side, if he can be properly trained up. Otherwise, well, he's still a good friend. 

"Merlin," Draco mutters. "Dealing with you as a time traveler was weird enough, but I'm already used to that idea, and it's not like you act too strange for our age anyway. But this?" 

"Just keep thinking of me as Harry Potter," I say. "I'm the only one you've actually known, after all. All it means is that I _didn't_ somehow defeat the Dark Lord when I was a baby. And I'm really doubtful that Harry Potter actually even did that myself, anyway." 

"It means that the Dark Lord didn't kill your parents," Draco points out. "And that you don't have any personal stake in that conflict." 

"No," I say, shaking my head. "He's already killed me several times. And he's put me under the Imperius Curse. Lied to me. Used me. Tricked me. It's personal. Oh, so very personal. Much more personal than murdering parents I wouldn't have been old enough to remember anyway." 

"But how much of that was because he thought you were Harry Potter?" Draco asks. 

"I don't know," I say. "But I'm not about to start sympathizing for him. Not in this lifetime. I see him as my enemy. He is a threat to my life and the lives of my friends. I won't abide by that." 

Hermione doesn't return to our compartment for the remainder of the train ride back to Hogsmeade. When we arrive and get loaded up on the thestral-drawn carriages, she pointedly goes off to sit with Lavender, Parvati, and Padma instead. I'm really going to need to figure out just what set her off like that. That isn't like her. 

"Thestrals are such lovely creatures," I comment absently. "It's too bad you guys probably can't see them." 

"Huh?" Neville says. 

"The creatures drawing the carriages," I say. "They're only visible to someone who has witnessed death." 

"I've heard of them," Draco says. "What do they look like?" 

"Like black horses with dragon-like wings and heads," I say. 

"That sounds kind of sinister," Neville says. 

"I wish I could see them, too," Draco says wistfully. 

"I'll let you know if I'm planning to murder anyone else, so you can watch," I offer lightly. 

"Harry!" Neville exclaims, aghast. 

"Relax, I'm just kidding," I say. "Mostly." 

We arrive at the castle, and head inside, taking seats at our respective tables in the Great Hall. Hermione makes a point to sit as far away from me as possible. 

"You want me to try to find out what the problem is with her?" Neville asks. 

"Let's just watch the Sorting Ceremony for now," I say. "We can worry about it in the morning, if she's still in a snit by that point." 

"Alright," Neville says. 

The first years get filed into the room to be sorted. I watch carefully, alert for anything that seems different, although I can't quite remember who all was in which houses the first time around. Colin to Gryffindor, Luna to Ravenclaw, Ginny to Gryffindor... doesn't look like anything is different. That's good. I was afraid that whatever changes I've made might have caused even more unexpected complications. 

I head up to my dormitory after the feast and try to get to sleep, but I find myself worried about Hermione. I don't understand it. Maybe she spotted something she thought sounded like a gaping hole in my story, or something, and didn't stick around long enough to hear an explanation for whatever it might have been. I'm starting to think that I should not have trusted my secrets to anyone but Tom Riddle, the only one who accepts me without question. Was it a mistake to tell Hermione at all? 

* * *

The next morning, Hermione is still avoiding me and refusing to speak to me. I give a nod to Neville to try to talk to her in the common room before breakfast, and quietly listen in on their conversation. Which doesn't prove to be very difficult, as it soon degenerates into yelling. Maybe the common room wasn't the best place to do this. 

"You don't understand!" Hermione says. "Imagine if he'd said that he was descended from Merlin!" 

"I trust Harry," Neville says. "I'd take him at his word. How would I know that he's not, anyway?" 

"But... argh!" Hermione says. "Maybe that was a bad example. I don't know. Wizards sometimes have trouble distinguishing reality!" 

"Huh?" Neville says in confusion. 

Hermione seems to realize that she's yelling at that point and lowers her voice, and I can't hear the remainder of their conversation. I _really_ don't understand this. What does Merlin have to do with anything? And I know perfectly well that my father and grandfather weren't even from this world. 

We head off to breakfast, and I put up a privacy spell and ask Neville, "So what did she say? Besides the part that was yelled to the entire common room. I got _that_ part." 

Neville makes a face. "I don't really understand it, either," Neville says. "She said a lot of things that didn't really make sense. Like the fact that you were obviously lying because those people you mentioned don't exist." 

"Well, they must, considering that I'm here," I say, sighing. "I don't get it." 

"Don't worry," Neville says. " _I_ believe in you... Stormseeker. You've believed in _me_ all this time. It's the least I can do." 

I smile at him. "Thanks, Neville." 

That evening, after dinner, I head up to my dorm for some privacy and pull out Tom Riddle's diary. I didn't bother writing in it yesterday, but after failing to resolve the situation with Hermione, I feel the need to let out some steam. 

"Hello, Tom," I write. "It's me, Lexen." 

"Hello, Lexen," comes the reply. "Are you back at Hogwarts yet?" 

"Yeah," I write back. "We arrived back in school yesterday. Unfortunately, I made a mistake. I thought I could trust my friends with my secret. I told them who I really am. But one of them, Hermione, got upset about it for some reason and called me a liar, and stormed out. She's refusing to speak with me now." 

"So, is Hermione Granger no longer your friend, then?" Tom asks. 

I frown a little at that. "I still consider her my friend, even if she's upset with me. I'm sure she'll calm down and this will pass." 

"I doubt that," Tom replies. "She is probably the sort who will accept nothing less than irrefutable proof of the truth before she will believe it." 

"You may be right," I admit. "But I stand by my statement. I would still defend her with my life if need be, for what it's worth." 

"I will not attempt to dissuade you from being foolish," Tom tells me. 

"Now that I'm in the school, can you get me into the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask. "Maybe tonight, after curfew? I can easily avoid being detected. I have an invisbility cloak, after all." 

"Perhaps," Tom answers. 

"Perhaps?" I write. 

"I don't think the connection is strong enough yet," Tom replies. "And the time of year is important, also. I suggest trying it on Halloween." 

I frown in frustration. All he asked for last time was a bit of blood, but maybe this would require something more. "Dark magic is strong on that night," I write back thoughtfully. 

"Yes," Tom states. "You are not averse to dark magic, from what you've told me." 

"Not at all," I reply. "Very well. Let's try it on Halloween night, then." 

* * *

I'm kind of dreading the repeat of my first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gilderoy Lockhart. Maybe, without having made us buy all his books, he'll at least forego the quiz on what his favorite color is, but I don't trust him not to bring out the pixies again. 

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Lockhart says. "I am your new professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. But I'm sure many of you already know who I am." A couple of the girls, including Hermione, practically swoon at that. "Sadly, I was not permitted to assign my own books as this year's course books, but I'm sure many of you have picked up on this valuable reading material regardless. So why don't we start off today with a little quiz, shall we?" 

I groan softly when I see the parchment that has been passed to me. Yes, he did indeed give a quiz on himself again. I stand up and say, "Pardon me, Mr. Lockhart, but I don't see how any of this is even relevant to the course objectives of Defense Against the Dark Arts, nor would it even be covered in our actual textbook." 

Hermione casts me a horrified look and stands up. "I apologize, Professor Lockhart. Potter clearly doesn't appreciate your talent." So, I'm Potter now, am I? 

"Indeed," Lockhart agrees. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Please sit down and begin your quiz." 

I pointedly don't sit down, and Neville stands up as well. "Harry's right," Neville adds. "This... this is nonsense. And I refuse to do this _quiz_." He pulls out his wand and points it at the parchment, and says, " _Incendio_." The parchment obediently bursts into flames. I'm impressed. Neville just set something on fire _intentionally_. 

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom," Lockhart says. 

Ron Weasley, of all people, stands up next. "You know, for once, I have to agree with Potter on something," Ron says. "How are we supposed to know any of this crap? And why does it matter?" 

"Mr. Potter, detention for starting a revolt," Lockhart says. 

"Why do _I_ get detention for Ron speaking up?" I wonder. "Whatever. If you try to make me help you answer your fan mail, I'll take a cue from Neville and set it on fire." 

"I would not stoop to giving you such a privelege in the guise of a punishment," Lockhart says. 

I snort in amusement. "Why don't we just forget about this stupid quiz and you can bring out the pixies you were going to show us, so we can all see what a great wizard you are?" 

"Ah, you caught a glimpse of them already?" Lockhart says. "I was hoping that they would be a surprise. Shame on you, Potter, for spoiling it for everyone." 

I point my wand at the cloth covering the pixie cage, and say, " _Wingardium Leviosa_." The cloth lifts away, revealing the cage that, sure enough, is full of little blue winged creatures, clamoring to get out. "Yes, class, observe these fearsome Cornish pixies. Which aren't even actually a dark creature. Welcome to Defense Against Minor Nuisances." 

Seamus and Dean, behind me, can't help but snicker in amusement. 

"Do not underestimate them," Lockhart says. "They are pernicious creatures." He seems to have already forgotten about the quiz, and goes over to the cage to open it. "Let's see what you can do with them!" 

Pixies streak out of the cage and proceed to wreck havoc throughout the classroom. They shred the remaining quizzes, knock over ink bottles, and break the window. 

"This is how you handle them," Lockhart says, pulling out his wand. " _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_ " Nothing happens. The pixies grab Lockhart's wand and throw it out the window, and the would-be professor proceeds to hide under his desk. 

"Was that even a real spell, Lockhart?" I say. "Alright, class. The best way to handle these pixies is to use the Freezing Charm. If you don't know how to cast it already, watch what I do. _Immobulus!_ " The pixie directly in front of me goes still. 

" _Immobulus!_ " says Hermione, freezing another pixie. 

Between Hermione and I, most of the pixies quickly get cleaned up, and I shove them back into the cage again and cast, " _Colloportus_." Lockhart's not going to be getting _that_ open himself again. I point at a puddle of spilled ink and say, " _Scourgify_." The ink vanishes, and I head over to the window. Lockhart's wand got dropped somewhere below, but I don't really care. He's better off without it, anyway. " _Reparo_ ," I say, and the shattered window mends itself. 

"Well, that was kind of fun," Seamus says. 

"At least after Harry told us what to do," Dean says. 

"What went wrong, Professor?" Lavender asks, looking at Lockhart plaintively, as if not wanting to believe that he's really a sham. 

"I... well..." Lockhart stammers, climbing out from under his desk finally and straightening his robes. "It's clearly not my day, it would seem." 

"I'm sure he was just nervous from his first day of teaching," Hermione says, although she only seems to half believe it herself. 

"I vote Harry for Defense professor," Neville says. 

"No way," I say. "I'm not falling victim to that curse." 

"Assistant professor?" Neville suggests. 

"Only if _I_ get to demonstrate the spells, rather than Lockhart having me play the part of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf in re-enacting his supposed 'cure' incident." 

"Hey, I'm the teacher here," Lockhart says. 

"You don't count," I say. "I refuse to dignify you with the title of 'professor'. You're just a placeholder that's here to be harmless." 

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione says. "I'm sure you're doing your best, but Potter being rude is simply uncalled for." 

I wonder what Lockhart would think if he realized that the only reason he got the job is because I told Dumbledore that he's harmless. Well, mostly harmless, at least. Not outright evil, at any rate. Just kind of a moron. A very intelligent moron. An oxymoron. 

"Forget it," I say, shaking my head. "If anyone wants to actually learn something, come find me in the common room or the Great Hall. Otherwise, I'll see you during exams." I head for the door. 

"Potter!" Lockhart exclaims. "You can't just leave!" 

"And why not?" I ask, turning to look at him. 

"It's against the rules!" Lockhart insists. 

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," I drawl. "Oh, teacher, oh, I have to go to the loo! I drank way too much pumpkin juice!" 

"That's quite enough, Potter!" Lockhart says. 

"Look, Lockhart," I say. "You're here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. You want me to stick around and behave myself in class? Then go through the spells listed in our course book. And if you can't cast them yourself, ask me or Hermione to demonstrate them for you. No pixies. No pointless stories. And no quizzes about your favorite color. Think you can do that?" 

"Mr. Potter, _I_ am the professor here, and _you_ are out of line," Lockhart says. "You can't tell _me_ how to teach my class!" 

"I don't see that he's asking anything unreasonable," Neville says. "If we're not here to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, what are we here for?" 

"Now, I know perfectly well that Dumbledore won't fire you before the end of the year for anything short of being arrested," I say. "But that doesn't mean I need to waste my time on your class if you're not going to actually teach anything." 

Neville gets up and stands by the door with me. "I'm with Harry," he says. "If you're not going to teach this class properly, why should I bother? I'd be better off practicing with Harry instead." 

"Detention for both of you!" Lockhart cries. 

"Come on, Neville," I say, heading out the door. Once out in the hallway, I say, "Let's go see Dumbledore." 

"Heh," Neville says. "That was kind of fun, actually. He's _way_ less scary than Snape." He snickers softly. "He hid under his desk from pixies! How does he honestly expect any sort of respect?" 

Chuckling softly, I make my way to the headmaster's office. Once outside, I tell the gargoyle, "Hershey kisses," and it moves aside. 

"You know the password to the headmaster's office?" Neville says, eyes wide. 

I wink at him and head inside and up the stairs. Dumbledore looks up from his desk and sets down the quill he was scribbling with, and says, "Ah, what can I do for you today... Harry?" 

"Don't worry," I say. "I've told Neville everything. You can speak freely." 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Are you sure that was wise, Stormseeker?" 

"There is no one in this world that I trust more than Neville," I say. Neville swells up with pride beside me. 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "But shouldn't you boys be in class? Did something happen?" 

"Please ask Lockhart to actually teach his class, rather than unleashing pixies upon a room full of twelve year olds without even suggesting what they should do first," I say. 

Dumbledore sighs and puts his forehead in his palm. "He did that?" 

"He also gave us detention for protesting his questionable teaching methods," I say. "After, mind you, we re-captured the pixies and cleaned up the room." 

"Technically, he only gave _me_ detention afterward," Neville says. "He gave _you_ detention after Ron agreed that his quiz was stupid." 

"Quiz?" Dumbledore asks. 

"The first question was 'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?', and it just went downhill from there," I reply. 

"You know I can't afford to fire him, Stormseeker," Dumbledore says. "Also, it was you who recommended him to me as harmless." 

"Useless but harmless, were my words, I believe," I say. "I'm not suggesting firing him. Just asking him to actually try to do the job you hired him for. That hardly seems like too much to ask for. And if he refuses, there are plenty of ways to encourage him short of firing him." 

"Such as?" Dumbledore says. 

"Having him play target dummy for Snape during Dueling Club sessions," I say. "We are still doing that this year, aren't we?" 

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore says. "Severus has agreed to continue to host the Dueling Club." He frowns a little. "I'm afraid I must ask the two of you to serve your detentions, however. Discipline must be maintained, after all, and from the sounds of things, you _did_ cause a disruption in class." 

"Lockhart's pixies caused a bigger disruption," I say, shrugging. 

"However, I'll take your detentions myself, and we can practice Neville's Occlumency during the time period," Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling. 

"Thank you, sir," I say, grinning.


	40. Gathering Storm

"So, Ravenclaw's secret heir still isn't speaking to you?" Draco says. 

It's breakfast on Saturday morning, and Neville, Luna, and I are eating at the Slytherin table to get away from the nastiness in our own houses for a little bit. And to eat tasty food. 

"That's right," I say, sighing. "I still have no idea what's gotten into her." 

Pansy Parkinson comes over to sit across from us, and peers at us for a moment. "What did you do, Potter? Trade in the Gryffindor Mudblood for a Ravenclaw pureblood instead? At least you're finally showing _some_ taste." 

"I would prefer if you didn't badmouth my friends," I say. 

"From what I've seen, she isn't even your friend anymore," Pansy says. 

"She'll get over it, I'm sure," I say. 

"And what's your problem, anyway?" Pansy says. "You say 'Mudblood' just as much as the rest of us." 

I look at her in puzzlement. "What's that have to do with anything?" 

Neville winces a little and says, "Most polite people say 'Muggleborn' instead." 

I turn and look aghast at him. "That's horrible!" I say. "Why would I insult someone like that?" 

"Er, I mean," Neville says, stammering a little. "'Mudblood' is the rude word. 'Muggleborn' is the polite one." 

"That's so totally backwards it's not even funny, you know," I say. "Mudblood just means they've been mixing their blood around. Muggleborn implies that their parents were _Muggles_ , and that's just horrible." 

"Aren't they?" Blaise says, looking confused. 

"No!" I say. "Muggles don't have magic. Muggles can't have magical children. They've all got to be descended from magical families in some way or another." 

"I think I head a theory about something like that," Theodore says. 

"Maybe she's upset because you call her a Mudblood all the time," Blaise suggests. 

I shake my head. "I explained that to her last year, and no, that's not it." 

"You sure?" Blaise says. 

I sigh. "Yes, I'm sure." 

After breakfast is the first session of the Dueling Club for this year. I'm excited about this, grinning like a fool. Hermione is so actively avoiding me at the moment that she's actually sitting with the Hufflepuffs this evening. I imagine that she wouldn't even be here at all if she wasn't afraid of missing the opportunity to learn something. 

Snape gets up on stage and says, "Welcome, students, to another year of the Hogwarts Dueling Club. I am Professor Severus Snape, still your coordinator." There's applause from me and the Slytherins. "Although this year, I have Professor Gilderoy Lockhart as my assistant." There's applause from a number of other scattered people, mostly girls. 

"Well said, Severus," Lockhart says. "Although perhaps it should be said that _you_ will be assisting _me_ instead." 

"No, it should not," Snape grates. "Anyway. Tonight we will be giving you a demonstration of some of the spells we will be exploring in the Dueling Club this year. Also, I'm announcing that, with a full year of Dueling Club ahead of us, this year there will be a dueling tournament beginning in second term to determine the best duelist of each year. So practice and learn your spells well, because the competition will be fierce." 

That sounds definitely exciting. Although, people are already looking at me as though it's a foregone conclusion that I'm going to win, even Draco. 

"Potter shouldn't be allowed to compete!" Ron says aloud. 

"And praytell, why not, Weasley?" Snape says, fixing a glare upon Ron. 

"Because... um..." Ron stammers. "He'd totally win!" 

"That is not a very persuasive argument," Snape says. "It would seem as though you have sufficient motivation to improve yourself. Do so, then, rather than complain that life isn't fair because others are better than you." 

Draco snickers softly. "Yeah, Weasel. Hey, everyone. I'll bet any takers a galleon that Longbottom will beat Weasel." 

"What!?" Neville says in alarm. 

Ron just glares at Draco, and Snape clears his throat. "Now, if there will be no further interruptions, we will begin our demonstration," Snape says. 

"Yes, let's," Lockhart says, drawing his wand and getting into dueling positions with Snape. 

Once the duel begins, Snape says, " _Expelliarmus!_ " Lockhart's wand flies out of his hand, although he remains standing on stage this time. 

"Ah, very nice," Lockhart says. "That was the Disarming Charm, students. A good idea to demonstrate that spell, but it was very obvious what you were about to do--" 

" _Mimble Wimble!_ " Snape says. "That was the Tongue-Tying Curse." 

I laugh, along with several of the Slytherins, but Snape is just getting started. 

" _Tarantallegra!_ " Snape says, and Lockhart begins dancing uncontrollably. "That was the Dancing Feet Jinx." 

Now even Ron and some of the other Gryffindors are laughing, although Lockhart's fans look horrified at the display. 

" _Locomotor Mortis_!" Snape says, and Lockhart's legs snap together. "And that was the Leg-Locker Curse." 

Lockhart is waving his hands about frantically by this point and shaking his head, and Lavender says, "Oh, I hope he's alright." 

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Snape says, and Lockhart's arms press themselves against his sides. "And the Full Body-Bind Curse. That concludes today's demonstration." 

I applaud, and call out, "Horray for Snape!" The Gryffindors look at me strangely as usual. 

Snape takes the time to describe the effects of each of his spells in detail before bothering to release Lockhart. Lockhart, clears his throat, straightens his robes, and goes to retrieve his wand. "Yes, Severus, very nice, very nice," Lockhart says in a strained voice. 

With the demonstration over, we're directed to pair off and practice for a bit. I hook up with Neville, as usual. He's been doing much better with my help and guidance, but he still has a long way to go. 

" _Tarantallegra!_ " Neville casts, and I find my legs dancing on their own. 

"Good job, Neville," I say, grinning at him. 

" _Locomotor Mortis!_ " Neville casts. 

My legs are suddenly locked in place. But they continue to try to dance. I fall over and barely catch myself with my hands to avoid falling flat on my face. A terrible pain shoots through my legs, accompanied by ominous snapping sounds. 

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Neville exclaims, and my broken legs stop trying to move on their own. "Shit, I'm sorry, Harry!" 

"All wands down!" Snape calls out, and the practice around the room ceases quickly. "I'll get that for you, Potter." 

"No, no, let me do it," Lockhart says, approaching my prone form and getting to me first. 

"No, Lockhart," I say. "Let Snape handle it. Get away from me--" 

The world swims and blurs. I have no idea what spell Lockhart just cast, but my whole body feels like jelly. What did he do, vanish all the bones in my body or something? I try to move, but that was a mistake. I flop around on the floor in pain, gurgling a bit as I try to speak. 

I can't even tell what's going on after a few moments, and the world fades away, thankfully taking the pain with it. 

* * *

I wake to the sound of my rooster watch crowing. I'm in the Gryffindor dormitory. Wonderful, that means that Lockhart somehow managed to kill me again. Grumbling a little in irritation, I get out of bed and get dressed. I can at least be thankful that the Dueling Club is meeting on Saturday _mornings_ rather than evenings. 

"So, is Ravenclaw's secret heir still not speaking to you?" Draco asks at breakfast. 

I sigh to myself inwardly. I'd really rather not go through this conversation again. " _Muffliato_ ," I mutter, giving us some privacy. 

"What is it, Harry?" Neville asks. 

"Lockhart killed me today," I say dryly. 

"What?" Draco says in surprise. "How?" 

"Completely by accident," I say, rolling my eyes. "At Dueling Club. I was practicing with Neville, and was on the floor after receiving a curse, and Lockhart thought that I needed his 'help'. And completely ignored my protests to the contrary." 

"Oh..." Neville says sheepishly. "I'm sorry." 

"Relax," I say firmly. "It was Lockhart's fault, not yours. You were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing. Although, just to be on the safe side, you might want to cancel a curse before you cast another one when practicing. They can sometimes have unpredictable effects when combined. So only do that if you actually want to hurt someone." I have to wonder if Snape wasn't _trying_ to hurt Lockhart, or if it was just Neville miscasting the spells. Neither would surprise me. 

"Alright," Neville says, staring at his omelette. "I'm sorry I got you killed." 

"Neville," I say. " _Relax_. It wasn't anything serious until Lockhart decided to butt in. You've been doing great lately, and I'm proud of you. Don't let fear hinder what progress you've been making." 

"Alright," Neville says dubiously. 

"Now, let's enjoy breakfast, shall we?" I say brightly, and cancel the privacy spell. 

I hate to say anything that might discourage Neville, but I really don't need to be killed by Lockhart's ineptitude. After breakfast, as the students are gathering for the Dueling Club, I approach Professor Snape to speak with him for a moment quietly. 

"Professor," I say. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to disallow Lockhart from possessing a wand during Dueling Club." 

Snape raises an eyebrow at me. "Oh?" 

"Yeah," I say. "If someone were to get hurt, he might think it's his duty to try to 'help' them, and unfortunately he knows just enough magic to be harmful." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Next to him, Neville is _Merlin_." 

"I see," Snape says, lips quirking in a bit of a smirk. "I'll take that into consideration, Potter." 

The Dueling Club session begins, and Snape welcomes us in and gives his announcements again. Ron protests, Snape retorts, Draco offers a bet, no real changes there. 

"If that will be all of the interruptions we're having, let us begin our demonstration," Snape says. 

"Oh, Severus," Lockhart says, looking up his sleeves and poking around in his robe. "Have you seen my wand?" 

Snape smirks broadly and holds up the object. "Indeed I have," he says dryly. 

"Ah, there it is!" Lockhart says. "Could you give it back?" 

"I think not," Snape says, tucking it away into his robes. 

"It will be difficult for me to assist in this demonstration without a wand," Lockhart protests. 

"Yes, I'm afraid that I won't be able to demonstrate the Disarming Charm that way," Snape says. "Oh, but there's a solution to that." He pulls out a tube-shaped, soft, bright orange object. "I confiscated this from a Muggleborn student yesterday. It will make a suitable weapon for you." 

Lockhart takes the foam wand dubiously. "I think I would prefer my wand back," Lockhart says. "But no matter. I have defeated far more fearsome foes under more restrictive handicaps than this!" 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," Snape says calmly, pointing his wand at Lockhart. 

I cheer for Snape even more enthusiastically than I did last time. This solidifies it in my mind: Snape is officially awesome. 

"Poor Lockhart!" Lavender says quietly. "Being humiliated like that." 

"He won't even have a chance to show off his skills that way," Parvati says. 

"Believe me, that is for the best," I comment dryly. 

Once Snape's demonstration is over with, Lockhart is given his foam stick back after it had been disarmed. He grumbles a little and takes it, and says, "At least I can use it to help show the students the proper wand movements!" 

"Please don't," Snape says flatly. 

I pair off against Neville again, and say, "Alright, let's have a go at this. Cast away." 

"Are you sure?" Neville says. 

I smirk. " _Relax_ , Neville," I say. "Go ahead and curse the crap out of me. Well, okay, I doubt you actually know any spells to literally curse the crap out of me, but never mind that. Just cast something. It's alright." 

"If you say so," Neville says. " _Tarantallegra!_ " 

My legs twitch, and suddenly I start doing a slow waltz. "I don't think that was quite right," I say, chuckling. " _Finite Incantatem_. Try again." 

Lockhart comes over to us. "Having trouble with the spell?" Lockhart says helpfully. "Allow me to demonstrate. Mimic my wand movements. _Tarantallegra!_ " he says, waving his foam stick around wildly and nothing like the actual wand movements should be. 

I snort softly, and say, "No, no, mimic _my_ wand movements." I point my wand at Lockhart and say, _Tarantallegra!_ " 

Lockhart promptly starts dancing. "Ah, yes, like that," Lockhart says. "Very good, Potter. Now can you make it stop?" 

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," I say, then look to Neville, "Your turn, Neville." 

" _Tarantallegra!_ " Neville says, waving his wand at Lockhart. This time he casts the spell properly, and Lockhart starts dancing again. 

"Much better, Mr. Longbottom!" Lockhart says. 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," I say offhandedly, pointing my wand at Lockhart. He opens his mouth, but whatever comment he might have regarding my spellcasting fails to emerge. 

" _Locomotor Mortis!_ " Neville casts at Lockhart. 

Sure enough, Lockhart promptly falls over, his legs still twitching until they snap. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," I say, pointedly waiting for a few moments. "Professor Snape!" I call. "Lockhart got himself hurt." 

"So I see," Snape says. "Five points to Gryffindor for you, Longbottom." 

"Gah!" Lockhart screams. "You're rewarding him for this?" 

"I'm rewarding him for successfully casting those spells," Snape says. "This is Longbottom. Seeing him correctly cast two spells in one day is a feat on a miraculous level." 

"Could you at least heal me?" Lockhart says. "This hurts! Don't you have a potion for this somewhere around here?" 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," I murmur. 

Lockhart opens his mouth again, closes it, opens it again, and then resorts to just screaming at the top of his lungs. By this point, several nearby students have stopped their practicing to stare at us and whisper amongst themselves. 

Snape glares at the other students. "Carry on, students," he says. "I will take care of this. It's nothing to be concerned about." Lockhart continues to scream loudly. " _Mobilicorpus._ " Lockhart's body lifts itself off the floor. "I'm going to take Lockhart to the hospital wing. Potter, watch over the students while I am gone. If anything unfortunate happens while I am away, I will give you detention." 

Snape leaves the room with the screaming Lockhart. I'm sure that he could have done something about it right here, but just wanted to prolong the man's suffering. 

Neville starts laughing softly once he's gone. "That was... kind of fun, really," Neville says. "Does that make me a bad person?" 

"Nah," I say. "It makes you the luckiest person in the room. I'm sure everyone but Lockhart's rabid fans would love to do that to him and get away with it." 

"Hey," Ron is saying to another group of students. "Snape said if anything happens, Potter gets detention! Let's have at it!" 

I sigh a little as I find myself beset upon by half a dozen twelve year old boys. I dance out of the way of their curses and cast, " _Expelliarmus!_ " on Ron. 

" _Tarantallegra!_ " casts Neville, causing Seamus to start dancing. 

I dodge a few more curses, but Neville isn't as nimble as me, and he soon gets taken out by a Disarming Charm. Draco steps up to my side, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, as the violence escalates. The entire room is swept up into an all-out war in the span of a few heartbeats. 

"Can't we all just get along?" says a random Hufflepuff, who promptly gets Tongue-Tied. 

"Who will stand with me against the Dark Lord Potter?" Ron says. 

"That's a really horrible name, you know," I say. "If you're going to call me by some title, at least call me 'the Stormseeker'." 

"I've got your back, Harry," Neville says, having retrieved his wand in the confusion. 

There's a momentary truce as battle lines are drawn and sides are chosen. It looks like I'm facing off against all of second year Gryffindor minus Neville, as well as all of the Hufflepuffs and a few Ravenclaws. My own forces appear to be all of the Slytherins and some of the Ravenclaws. 

"We may be outnumbered, but we still have the advantage," I say. "We're _better_ than them. Let's show them what for!" 

"To me, my friends!" Ron calls out. "We will not allow the Dueling Club to fall to darkness and tyranny!" 

"Nice speech," I say with a snort. "Do you even know what 'tyranny' means?" 

"Let us begin!" Ron says. 

"Attack!" I bark. 

Our forces clash. Curses fill the air. Many of the students, especially the Slytherins, aren't sticking with the relatively harmless spells Snape was demonstrating. Some of them definitely aren't in our course books. 

I wind up being taken out of the game by a few quick spells from Hermione. Apparently casting curses at me doesn't count as speaking to me. I lay on the ground, vision swimming and unable to move, drifting in and out of consciousness for several minutes. 

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," says Draco's voice. 

I can move again. I fumble around and grab my wand, and sit up. Draco is the only one standing. Everyone else in the room is laying on the ground, although it doesn't look like anyone was actually seriously injured. Draco goes over to cancel the spells on Neville next. I get up to help him getting out own side back on their feet quickly. 

"We won?" Neville says, looking around for his wand. 

"Of course," Draco says. 

Once my impromptu army is back on its feet, I say, "Alright. Make certain there are no casualties. Confiscate enemy wands. Stand ready when releasing the spells on the prisoners." 

The wands scattered about the floor are quickly collected and placed in a pile on the stage. " _Locus Timoris_ ," I murmur on the pile to keep anyone else from getting close. Several students have minor cuts and bruises, and I toss an " _Episkey_ " at each of them. Nothing serious, fortunately. 

"You won't win every time, 'Stormseeker'," Ron spits. "You won't get away with--" 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," I mutter, and Ron promptly shuts up about it. I think that's my new favorite spell. 

"That was actually pretty fun," Dean says. "But I think I picked the wrong side. Can I defect to the Storm Army now?" 

"Is that what we're calling it now?" I say. 

"Sounds good to me," Draco says. 

And then Snape stalks in. "Tell me, Potter," Snape says. "Do _you_ think that this counts as 'unfortunate'?" 

"Not really," I reply. "Nobody's hurt, and we got some good practice in." 

"Lay off on Harry," Neville says. "Ron started it!" I stare at him in surprise. Neville is actually standing up to Snape for my sake now? 

Snape sighs and puts his forehead in his hand. "I'll give you one warning," Snape says. "No more spontaneous unsupervised warfare. Or everyone involved will be scrubbing cauldrons. This club is dismissed for the day." 

* * *

"I still can't believe he didn't give you detention after all that," Neville says. 

It's after lunch, and I'm currently gathered in an unused classroom with my usual circle of friends and co-conspirators, plus Crabbe, Goyle, and Dean. 

"I wonder how long he was standing there watching," Draco says. 

"I bet he found it right amusing," Dean says. 

"I'm going to need to change the password on my Revulsion Curse," I say. "Now that I've officially announced my title and all." I sigh. "And Hermione's defection doesn't help that, either." 

"I wouldn't put much store into who chose what sides back there," Dean says. "I bet most of us were just having fun with it." 

"Some of them were clearly serious, though," I say. "Ron just keeps getting worse and worse about it. And I thought he was bad _last_ year. And then there's Hermione..." 

"I can try talking to her," Dean says. 

I give a nod, and say, "Anyway, the new password on my Revulsion Curse spell will be 'Wishingsdale'. That, by the way Dean, is the spell I use to keep anyone from bothering me while I sleep. I learned it after the twins pranked my bed curtains." 

"Oh, so _that's_ what it is," Dean says. "Not because of some evil presence or anything like that." 

I snicker softly. "Well, it _is_ a curse, but that's so far as the 'evil' goes. But just try telling that to Ron, though." 

"It's the nargles," Luna says lightly. "Hogwarts is infested with them." 

"So," Draco says. "Storm Army? We're going to need a fancy logo. And a pretentious Latin motto." 

"Seriously?" I say, smirking. "Are we really doing this?" 

"Ron's certainly not backing down," Dean says. "You didn't eat lunch near us. You didn't hear how he was going on about it. Even trying to recruit from other years. He's nuts. He thinks himself some sort of a champion of the light or something. It was getting too much even for me." 

I sigh. "You know, I never would have predicted that it would come to this," I say. "Alright. If this is the game he wants to play, then we'll meet him in kind. Our logo is a lightning bolt, and somebody who actually speaks Latin can come up with a pretentious motto." 

"You know," Draco says thoughtfully. "This is _so_ much better than Quidditch." 

I laugh aloud. "Just yesterday you were going on about the upcoming tryouts!" 

"I'm still going to make the team," Draco says. "And I expect Storm Army to back me up if any random wars break out in the middle of a game." 

"Back up Slytherins?" Dean says. "Against Gryffindors?" 

"I really don't care about house affiliation," I say. "And Ron against me is Gryffindor versus Gryffindor, after all, so it evens out. We could use some Hufflepuffs, too, though..." 

"Bah, what do we need them for, anyway?" Draco says. 

"Hufflepuffs are good and loyal people," I say. "They value loyalty and hard work. Those sorts of people are _always_ good to have on your side." 

"Hmm, I suppose you might have a point about that," Draco says. 

* * *

"Lexen, I'm concerned about the reports I've heard regarding yesterday's, shall we say, _incident_ ," Dumbledore tells me in his office the next day. 

"It's not like I was the one who started it," I say. 

"And yet you stepped in and took charge like it was your rightful place, without missing a beat," Dumbledore says. 

"I don't really see what the problem is, sir," I say. 

"Some have expressed concern that you are trying to build an army like Voldemort did," Dumbledore says. 

"Nonsense," I say. "For starters, my fancy title isn't in French." 

"Lexen..." Dumbledore says. 

I smirk. "And more importantly, I'm _not evil_. I'm defending myself against false accusations leveled by a couple of overzealous Gryffindors." 

"Some may not see it that way, especially given the inclinations of many of those who have offered you their support," Dumbledore says. 

"And if I have their support instead of the Dark Lord, I fail to see how this is a bad thing," I say. "Once the remainder realize that I'm not evil and that I stand _against_ the Dark Lord, they will feel foolish and step behind me, and forget about these petty schoolboy conflicts." 

"Perhaps you are right, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "I just can't quite shake the feeling that you are walking down a very familiar path." 

"Don't worry, Headmaster," I say. "I'm not the Dark Lord and I'm not going to be. And he will regret it if he harms anyone on my side." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says with a sigh. "Do as you will, then. I cannot tell you otherwise. But do try not to disrupt studies in the process."


	41. House-Elf Appreciation Day

"Any luck with talking to Hermione, Dean?" I ask in our dorm room. 

Dean shakes his head. "She wouldn't tell me anything. She just said that she thought you were a liar without explaining why. But she did say that you have your secrets, and she won't be the one to make them public if you don't." 

"I see," I say, frowning a bit. "Maybe she's not a lost cause after all." 

Dean goes downstairs again, leaving me alone in the dormitory. I lean back against my bed, thinking. Maybe I should bring out the diary. Tom Riddle might have some ideas on what to do about this situation. As I'm considering that, Rispy pops into the room in front of me. 

"Hello, Rispy," I say. "How are you doing? Still helping out Kettleburn and Hagrid?" 

Rispy nods. "Yeah. Sorry I haven't come to visit sooner. We've been awfully busy getting things settled for the latest batch of third years. I'm sure you've been busy too. Hermione has come to visit me, though." 

"Ah, did she?" I say. "I don't suppose she said anything about me, did she?" 

"Yeah, that's why I came to see you," Rispy says, chuckling. "I couldn't believe that you were a backstabbing liar who couldn't be trusted. I owe you my freedom, after all, and you asked for nothing in return, so instead I'm left to wonder what happened to cause Hermione to believe this?" 

"It's all a big misunderstanding, I'm sure," I say, sighing. "I'm just trying to figure out how to get her to even speak with me again. And worse, her birthday is coming up." Something dawns on me, and I say, "Hmm. I have an idea. I'd like to introduce you to the rest of my group, for starters. Can you meet us in the room by the sleeping dragon tapestry in about thirty minutes?" 

"Sure," Rispy says, waves, and vanishes. 

I head down to the common room, where Neville is sitting with Dean. I come up to them and whisper, "Gather Storm Army, meet in the usual room in half an hour. I'll get the Slytherins." 

"Yes, _sir_ ," Neville snaps off with a cheerful grin. 

I head out of the Gryffindor Tower and down to the dungeons, up to the entrance of the Slytherin section. "Pureblood," I say. No effect. They must have changed it. Oh well, it was worth a shot. 

"What are you doing down here, Potter?" says a voice from behind me. I turn to see one of the older students, a prefect. 

"I was looking to speak with my friends," I say. "Could you tell Draco Malfoy that I'm looking for him, please?" 

"Yeah, sure, whatever," says the prefect lazily. "But no eavesdropping on our password." 

"Sorry," I say. "I'll wait by the stairs." 

I head off down the corridor. I don't have to wait more than a minute before Draco comes up, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, as well as Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, for some reason. 

"I didn't expect the whole lot of you, but it's good," I say. 

"Couldn't let Malfoy have all the fun," Blaise says. 

"I just wanted to see what you were up to," Theodore says. 

"Well, if you want in on this, I'm meeting up with everyone in the room next to the tapestry with the sleeping dragon," I say. 

"Definitely," Blaise says. 

"Let's go," Draco says. 

By the time we get there, Neville, Dean, and a handful of Ravenclaws are already present, including Luna, of course. And one Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, also showed up. 

"Justin's here too?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"We ran into him in the Great Hall and he decided to tag along," Neville says. 

"Should we throw him out, boss?" Crabbe asks. 

I shake my head. "He's perfectly welcome," I say. "I won't be divulging any grand secrets here. The only person this needs to be kept a secret from for the moment is Hermione." I give a small grin. "I think I know how we might be able to get Hermione on our side again." 

"How is that?" Draco asks. 

"The house-elves," I say. "Ron was never supportive of SPEW. If we can show her that we still believe in the same causes, maybe that'll restore her faith in me." 

"Brilliant!" Draco says. "That's a Slytherin sort of plan if I ever heard one." 

"Does that mean we have to wear those stupid buttons again?" Goyle asks. The irony of Goyle calling something stupid isn't lost on me. 

"Yes, you have to wear those stupid buttons again," Draco says, rolling his eyes. 

"Alright, guys," I say. "Hermione's birthday is on September 19th." 

Rispy appears in the room, causing everyone to turn toward him in surprise. "Sorry, am I late?" 

"Just on time, Rispy," I say. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Rispy, a free elf." 

"Hello, Rispy," Neville says. 

There's murmuring and surprise among the group. Even those who hadn't previously heard of house-elves found out about them because of Hermione's SPEW campaign last year. Still, since they're all first or second years, they haven't run across Rispy themselves yet. 

"You don't all have to stare at me like I'm some sort of exhibit," Rispy says. 

"Sorry, Rispy," Justin says. 

"The Stormseeker has some strange allies," Draco says, addressing the crowd. "But that's just why he will succeed where others have failed. He will shake the wizarding world to its foundations, and bring about a new age of glory for wizardkind!" 

"Thanks for the speech, Draco," I say, grinning. 

"So what do you have planned for Hermione's birthday?" Neville says. 

"What if we could turn it into a special event?" I say. "Maybe some sort of House-Elf Appreciation Day." 

"Head?" Neville says, raising an eyebrow. 

I smirk. "Well, at least it's better than SPEW..." 

"Why specifically house-elves?" Rispy says with a frown. "Why not make it Elf Pride Day?" 

"Because the point isn't for the elves, but for the wizards," I say. "Too many wizards don't appreciate what their house-elves do for them." 

"It still encourages slavery," Rispy says. 

"What are we going to do?" Draco says. "Suggest that the elves _take a day off_ or something?" 

"That's a good idea, Draco," I say. 

"I... uh... yeah, thanks," Draco says, snorting softly. 

"Have wizards do all the work the house-elves normally do?" Blaise says, raising an eyebrow. 

"That's a great idea," Theodore says. 

"It's an interesting thought," Justin says. "But would the Headmaster go along with it?" 

"I don't see why not," I say. "It's not like we'd be doing anything against the rules." 

"Do any of us even know how to cook?" Draco says. 

"Only with a microwave," Dean says. 

"What's a microwave?" Draco wonders. 

"It's... a Muggle thing that cooks stuff," Dean says. "So, not helpful." 

"Alright," I say. "I think we're going to need to get some of the older students in on this, then." 

"I can ask the Hufflepuffs," Justin offers. "I'm sure some of them, especially the other Muggleborns, might be able to help with that." 

"Should I ask the Ravenclaws?" Luna wonders. 

"No way," Mandy Brocklehurst says. "They'd never listen to _you_. I'll do it." 

"Mandy," I say firmly. "It will please me if you did not speak to Luna in such a way. Even if it's true." 

Mandy opens her mouth as if to make a sharp retort, then looks away sheepishly and murmurs, "Sorry." 

I nod. "Remember, we're in this together. I expect everyone on my side to treat one another with respect, even if it does not always seem as though they deserve it. Regardless of who they are, what house they are in, who their parents were, how much money they have, how smart or brave they are, or even what species they are." 

"Thank you, Stormseeker," Luna says softly, giving me a small smile. 

"Aye," Rispy agrees. 

"Does that include us, boss? Goyle and me?" Crabbe asks. 

"I expect you to treat others with respect, too," I say. 

"No, I mean. Do we get to be treated with respect ourselves?" 

I stare at him, gaping a little. I hadn't really expected this sort of thing from him. "Of course," I say sharply. "I did say _everyone_ , and I meant it." 

"What, treat them like _equals_?" Draco says incredulously. 

"Equality is meaningless," I say. "I said _respect_. Nobody is 'equal' -- what does that even mean, anyway? But everyone has value. Everyone has worth. Some people are better at some things than others. Not everyone can be good at everything. The contributions of anyone should not be discounted." 

"I see," Draco says thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be hard to win a game of chess with just the queen." 

"Does that make me a pawn, then?" Dean says. 

"Can I be a rook?" Neville asks. 

I snort softly. "We can skip the extensive chess metaphors. That's Ron's thing, after all. Anyway, it's almost lunch. You all know what to do. Let's get this thing rolling, shall we?" 

At lunchtime, in the Great Hall, it appears that someone has erected two banners on either side of the room. Over the Gryffindor table hangs a banner with a bright yellow and gold sun. Over the Slytherin table, there's a banner with a stylized lightning bolt shooting down out of black clouds. 

As I pass by the Gryffindor table, Ron says, "You are not welcome to sit with the Sun Army, Stormseeker." 

"I wasn't planning to darken your table, Sunshine Weasel," I say dryly, earning sniggers from a couple Slytherins who overhear me. 

Ron's face turns almost as red as his hair at that comment. 

"Just ignore him," says a Gryffindor prefect girl. "You can sit wherever you please." 

"Thanks," I say. "But I think I'd rather go eat with my friends." I head over to the Slytherin table, quickly followed by Neville and Dean. 

I find it a little amusing that it's only been a day since the Dueling Club incident, but this has already spread like wildfire. At least amongst the first and second years, at any rate. The older students seem to be kind of rolling their eyes and humoring us for the most part. It's a little strange to see Colin Creevey looking up to Ron instead of fawning over me, though. Maybe the upcoming Event will change a few people's minds about me. 

* * *

Keeping this a secret from Hermione seems like it would take a miracle. Clearly she's starting to suspect something, as students quickly go quiet or change the topic when she comes near them. Hermione frowns, no doubt wondering what everyone is up to, sniffs disdainfully and walks away. 

Lockhart's classes have been going much better. Rumor has it that Snape threatened to take away his wand again and force him to use a foam one if there's ever a repeat of the pixie incident. I don't know whether this is true or not, but it amuses me to think so, and I really wouldn't put it past Snape to do something like that. 

Over the next two weeks, Ron changes the name of his group to the Day Army, then the Daylight Army, and then to just the Light Army. More and more students are choosing sides, although I have no idea how many of them are serious about it and how many of them are just thinking that it's a bit of good fun. 

And then the day of the event finally arrives. I head down for the kitchens first thing in the morning. I've only managed to recruit a handful of older students who know their way around a kitchen, but received a number of volunteers from others in various years who are willing to give it a try. So the lot of us meet down in the kitchens, along with Rispy, who came along to at least try to help explain things to the house-elves. 

"Breakfast not ready yet," one of the house-elves says. "We starts soon. You wants drinks?" 

"Actually, we're doing something a little different today," I say. "The Headmaster has given his blessing, too." 

"We've all got the day off," Rispy says, grinning broadly. 

"Huh?" the house-elf says in puzzlement. 

"No cooking, no cleaning, no working," Rispy says. "The wizards will be doing the work today." 

"But... but..." the house-elf says. "What will we _do_ , then?" 

I give a suave bow toward the cluster of elves that have gathered. "It would please me if you would notify all of the house-elves in the castle and gather in the Great Hall. We have much planned for the day, and I would hate for anyone to miss out on it." 

I'm thankful that Hermione's birthday happened to fall on a Saturday this year. We wouldn't have nearly enough time to do everything we have planned _and_ still go to classes. As it is, I'm sure plenty of us will be cramming in time for homework later. But it'll be work it. This is going to be awesome. 

"But, we just wants to work," says another confused house-elf. 

"You just want to make the wizards happy, don't you?" I say. "Come on. Dumbledore's orders. No work today. All elves to the Great Hall. Go along with Rispy." 

Still confused, the house-elves spread word of their new orders and clear out the kitchen. They look a little more unhappy that I'd hoped for, but that went better than I'd expected, at least. With that little obstacle out of the way, it's time to get breakfast started. The ones who actually know about cooking take up supervising positions, while the rest of us make up a small army of walking disasters. And a disaster it is. 

"Man," Dean says. "I didn't realize cooking was so _complicated_." 

"It's as bad as Potions," Neville agrees. 

"Except it's less likely to blow up and give you boils if you do something wrong," Draco says with a smirk. I can hardly believe that even he is down here attempting to cook. "This isn't so bad, really." 

"Turns out I'm just as bad at cooking as I am at Potions," I comment dryly. 

"Keep at it, Stormseeker!" Neville says. "You can do it!" 

" _You're_ encouraging _me_ now?" I say, grinning. "That's a nice switch. Alright, I'll try this cake again." 

After two failures with making up the cake batter, the third attempt bakes up nicely into a satisfactory white cake. Third time's the charm, I suppose. Not too sweet or sugary, since I remember Hermione's parents are tooth healers so she tends to avoid sweets, but I hope it's still good enough. I pull out the icing to start decorating it, but one of the older students stop me. 

"Let the cake cool before decorating it," she advises. 

"Oh, oops, thank you," I say. 

I take a moment to look around the kitchen. There have been a number of small disasters around the kitchen. Meals ruined, pancakes scorched, an entire dozen eggs spilled on the floor. But strangely, it seems like everyone is having _fun_. Several girls are laughing even at their own horrible failures. 

"I think this was a great idea, Harry," Neville says. "I think a lot of us never really appreciated everything the house-elves do for us every day. Can I help you decorate Hermione's cake?" 

"Sure," I say. "I wonder if it's cool enough now." I absently poke at it a little. 

"Be patient," says the older girl. "Leave the poor thing along for a few minutes." 

I go over to help clean up some of the messes that have been made around the room in the meantime. Then I head over to ice the cake with Neville. "Not too much icing," I say. "Just a little. There we go..." It's not perfect or even, and there's a few random gouges in the cake, but it should be edible enough. "Now to figure out how to work this thing..." I peer at the odd, funnel like object. 

"I'll show you," says the older girl. "Here, hold it like this." I take it and imitate what she does. "Yes, like that. And squeeze it like so..." 

Clumsily, I write the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIONE on the top of the cake. The letters are a bit deformed, I didn't have enough room for the Y's on the top and wound up putting them on the sides, and a fair bit of extra icing had to be scraped off due to having a little accident with it, but it's done. 

"I did it!" I say, grinning excitedly. "I hope Hermione likes her cake." 

I carefully carry it upstairs to the Great Hall. It wouldn't do, after all that effort, to just fall down, drop it, run into someone, or something. In the Great Hall, a huge banner has been raised with the words HOUSE-ELF APPRECIATION DAY, hand-made by a number of members of Storm Army. The elves are all seated at the four house tables, most of them looking quite stunned and confused. A few of them seem to be crying. 

Up front, a few older students have put together a small band on short notice, with a Ravenclaw seventh year girl singing a song she wrote about house-elves. They aren't particularly good, and the song is pretty strained, the rhymes very forced at times, but it's the thought that counts. 

Hermione is just coming into the room for breakfast, and her jaw drops, eyes looking like they're about to pop out of their sockets at the sight. Stunned, she goes over to take a seat at the Gryffindor table next to Ron. 

"This is all so stupid," Ron says, sighing. "Why would anyone want to make a day for house-elves? They _like_ being enslaved!" 

Hermione glares at him and says, "I'm not speaking to you, Ron." She promptly stands up and moves over to the Ravenclaw table. 

I turn and head over there instead, and set the cake down in front of her. "Happy birthday, Hermione," I say. "I, er, made this myself. I hope it's alright." Hermione gapes at the cake, and I quickly add, "It's alright if you still don't want to talk to me. But I wanted to do something for your birthday anyway." 

"Are _you_ responsible for all of this?" Hermione exclaims. 

"Well, it wasn't _just_ me," I say. "It took an awful lot of coordination and work. You should see the small army of students down in the kitchens trying to cook." 

"But I mean," Hermione says. "It was _your_ idea, right?" 

"Actually, the elves taking the day off was Draco's idea, technically," I say lightly. 

Draco comes up behind me and says, "Oh, quit trying to downplay your own role in this. Everyone knows this happened because of you." 

Neville shows up, carrying a small box. "I found some candles for the cake!" I don't know where he might have found them, but they're tiny candles in pastel pink, yellow, and blue. He goes and carefully puts thirteen candles upon Hermione's cake. 

"Oh, you guys..." Hermione says. There are tears in her eyes. "You don't do anything in half measures, do you?" 

Draco laughs softly. "You got that right. Here, I made you something." He pulls out a bit of folded parchment with too much glitter attached to it, and passes it over to her. 

"You made me a birthday card?" Hermione says, blinking as she takes it and looks at it. 

"I was bored and had some free time, okay?" Draco says. "It's not like I like you or anything." 

Hermione giggles loudly at that. "'Dear Ravenclaw's secret heir, I think you're okay.'" 

Neville and I peer over to look at it. "Complete with flowers, butterflies, and songbirds," Neville says. 

"Nice charm work getting them to move like that," I say. 

"I was _really_ bored," Draco insists. 

"I'll bet you were," Hermione says, and spontaneously leans over to give him a peck on the cheek. 

"Gah!" Draco says. "Don't do that! Someone will get the wrong idea!" 

Hermione just laughs aloud. It's good to see her happy and smiling again. "Alright, guys," she says. " _You_ ," she points to me, "are going to have a nice long talk with me. Later. Or tomorrow. But for now, I'll just take this gesture at face value. Why don't we try out this lovely cake of yours?" 

"Thanks, Hermione," I say, grinning. 

* * *

"Harry, I must say, I had my doubts at first, but this has been a lovely day," Dumbledore tells me in the Great Hall toward the end of dinner. 

By this point, even the Weasley twins have gotten into the act, entertaining the house-elves with batches of fireworks. I'm not sure whether it's because they agreed with the cause, or just want to take any excuse to have fun. Probably the latter, but I'll take what I can get. The house-elves, for the most part, brightened considerably after seeing how into this many of the students are. 

"I'll tentatively call it a success, sir," I say with a small grin. 

The food that got served in the Great Hall has been not exactly the tastiest feast in the history of Hogwarts. Dessert today is full of flattened cakes, brownies that someone forgot to add sugar to, and pies that are nothing more than a fruit soup inside of a soggy crust. It's been fun and all, but it's probably just as well that the day will be over soon. 

"Headmaster," says Dean, approaching with a bowl full of... something. "Would you like to try my cookies?" 

I blink and peer into the bowl. "Was that supposed to be chocolate-chip cookies?" 

"Yeah," Dean says, snickering. "Probably best to eat them with a spoon now, though." 

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Thomas, I'd be delighted," Dumbledore says, taking the bowl from him and munching on a spoonful of crumbled cookies. "They're delicious." 

"You can have the rest, then," Dean says, grinning. 

"Thank you," Dumbledore says. "I do love sweets, you know." 

* * *

Back in the common room after curfew, Hermione says, "Thanks for today, you guys." She smiles at me, Neville, and Dean, and casts a glare across the room at Ron and Seamus. "I think I can see who my real friends are, now. Even if..." Hermione gives me a long look. 

"Do you want to talk about that, now?" I say. 

"Yes, I think we'd best," Hermione says. 

Dean says, "Should I leave?" 

"No, you can stay, Dean," I say. "Just please promise me that you if you want to never speak to me again, you'll at least tell me why first?" 

"Alright," Dean says. "I promise." 

" _Muffliato_ ," I say. "Okay, where were we before?" I sigh. "I'd been just trying to explain that I'm not actually Harry Potter, but an interdimensional traveler who took his place because I kind of look like him." 

Dean blinks at me. "When was this? You act like you always have, so far as I've seen." 

"Harry Potter died at the age of five," I say. "Any appearance of him after that has been me. So yeah, it's not like anyone had even seen him recently anyway, so it was pretty easy to fit in." 

"And then there was the part about your family," Hermione says flatly. 

"Yeah," I say. "My mother's name was Anara Chelseer. My father was Anakin Skywalker. He was from a universe we called 'The Galaxy Far, Far Away', for some reason. He was some sort of powerful wizard there, called a Jedi..." 

Hermione rubs her temples, and Dean just blinks at me. "Is _that_ what you were upset at him about, Hermione?" Dean asks. 

Hermione nods. "And about his grandfather, too." 

"My grandfather was named Raistlin Majere," I say. "He was a powerful wizard from a world named Krynn. Mind you, I've never actually met either one of them. I've only heard what my family has told me about them, which isn't really all that much." 

"I haven't heard of that one," Dean says. "But do you mean to tell me that your father is Darth Vader? Seriously?" 

"I don't know of any Darth Vader," I say, frowning in confusion. "My father is Anakin Skywalker." 

"So, what, you _don't know_ that you're claiming your father is the Dark Lord of the Sith, and that your grandfather is an evil mage of the Black Robes who tried to attain godhood?" Hermione says. 

"I... _what_?" I say, looking at her in shock and blinking repeatedly. 

Hermione watches me carefully and frowns thoughtfully. "So you really don't know," Hermione says. "You don't know that there have been books and movies about them?" 

"What's a movie?" I wonder. 

"Muggle entertainment," Dean explains. "Moving pictures with sound, telling a story." 

"Alright... so..." Hermione says. "You're either a very good actor, or you're not lying. Either your family was lying to you, or you're somehow telling the truth, however impossible that might seem..." 

"I swear, I'm not lying to you, Hermione," I say. 

"But how could this _possibly_ be true?" Hermione says. "They're _fictional_. They aren't _real_. They don't _exist_." 

"Didn't you think magic and wizards didn't exist before receiving your Hogwarts letter?" I ask. 

"I suppose that's true," Hermione admits. "But this is something very specific." 

"I told you about the Elkandu, didn't I?" I say. "They're a group of wizards who travel to different worlds, different universes, through the teleportation device called the Nexus. It's capable of taking someone almost anywhere. It doesn't really surprise me that people here have stories about different worlds. I just... well, I didn't think my family was, you know, _evil_ or anything..." 

"I want to see this Nexus for myself," Hermione says. 

I chew on my lower lip. "I'd love to do that, Hermione, but I'm not sure if it's safe." 

"Safe?" Hermione repeats. 

"Yeah," I say. "I don't know if the Dark Elkandu still have control of the place or not." 

"You've never gone back to find out?" Hermione says. "You said before that you're immortal and can't die, so what do you really have to lose?" 

"You make a very good point," I say. "I'll admit that I've been afraid to look. The Dark Knight is... very powerful. God-like, really. He could do whatever he wanted to me, if I gave him reason to. And then, I suppose, there's the fact that so long as I remain here, I don't have to face the fact that my family is probably dead..." 

"I'm sorry," Hermione says quietly. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just, well, a lot to accept without any sort of proof, you know?" 

"I know," I say, smiling at her reassuringly. "Tell you what. I'll see what I can do. Failing that, I'll convince Dumbledore to let us use his Pensieve for a little bit. Alright?" 

"Alright," Hermione says. "I should get to bed. I have a lot to think about. Good night."


	42. You Can't Go Home Again

In the morning, I prepare to leave before breakfast. " _Muffliato_. Alright, I'm going," I say quietly to Hermione and Neville in the common room. "I might be gone a while. But if I'm not back by tonight, well, assume the worst." 

"Oh, Harry, is it really that dangerous?" Hermione asks. "You don't have to go just for my sake--" 

I shake my head. "I do really ought to find out what happened there, one way or another. I've just been putting it off." 

"But is it really worth risking getting killed over?" Hermione asks. 

I chuckle softly. "Given my circumstances?" I say. "Yes. Just try to cover for me if anyone notices I'm missing, and if I don't come back, please tell Dumbledore, alright?" 

"I don't want to be left without you," Neville says quietly. 

"Believe in yourself, Neville," I say. "You can do anything you put your mind to. I don't want anybody moping over me, ever, understand? I'm immortal, remember? Even if I'm somewhere else, it's not like I'm really dead or anything." 

"Alright," Neville says softly. "Good luck." 

I restrain the urge to make a face and wonder aloud why people say that to me. "Thanks, Neville," I say. "But I don't believe in luck." 

Somebody wished me good luck. Now I _know_ I'm going to die. I head on out of the Gryffindor common room and slip off into a corner out of sight to slip on the invisibility cloak. I wonder how good this cloak really is. I would imagine that only Keolah and probably Sardill would be able to detect me while I'm wearing it. 

Under the guise of invisibility, I creep on out of the castle and onto the grounds. I absently wonder if there might be any secret passageways leading into and out of the castle, but that's not really my concern at the moment. Just walking out while invisible is sufficient for the moment. Now to just get far enough away that I'm beyond the castle's anti-teleportation wards. I wonder how far they extend. Not all the way to Hogsmeade, I know that much, but how much of the Forbidden Forest is covered by them? And how big is the forest, really? 

I decide that heading to Hogsmeade would be safer and clearer when I'm far enough away than delving into the forest. I'll still be walking for a fair while, though, and I kind of wish I had stopped to eat breakfast first. No help for that now, though. 

The sun is well into the sky by the time I make it down to Hogsmeade on foot. That should be far enough. Even though I'm invisible, I still make sure to move to an out of the way alley to attempt this magic. It has been a long time since I've Recalled, but it was designed to be as easy as possible. I look within myself for the beacon of light that marks the Nexus to everyone that has been attuned to it. But I don't find it. 

I frown a little, and run through an Occlumency exercise to clear my mind and make sure that I'm calm. I am the eye of the storm. I should be able to see this thing. Nothing has happened to the Nexus since I've been gone, has it? Focus. I must find it. There, there's something. Like little flashes of flickering light in the depths of my soul. That's what I'm looking for, I'm sure. But it's so weak. Before, it was so strong and bright that all I had to do was look for it and grab onto it, and I'd be back in Torn Elkandu. What happened there? 

No matter. I will soon find out, I'm sure. I grasp for the feeble, flickering light and try to hold it steady, stabilize it long enough to get the Recall spell off. Come on, bring me through. It's like trying to cling to a frayed, shaking rope. But I'm sure it'll still get me through, even in this condition. I think I'm getting through. I think something is happening. The old, familiar glowing mist is surrounding me... 

_Pain_. Something's wrong. My vision goes dark. What's going on? I blink a few times, and for a moment my vision clears. I see the Nexus, but all the runes are dark. The runes along the obelisks, the streets, everywhere, dark, dead. The only light is from the swirling purple sky overhead, ominous and chaotic. 

But then my vision blurs again, and my head is swimming in pain. I try to move, and realize I'm not all there. Caught between two worlds in space, it's a wonder I even got to the Nexus at all. Even as I try to pull myself the rest of the way through, I can feel the malfunctioning Nexus scatter my parts all over the multiverse. 

Keolah downplayed the effects of the Nexus being left alone to destabilize. Sure, it won't blow up, but it'll be damned hard to get through safely while it's down. Mercifully, it doesn't take long to fragment me enough to finish me off. 

* * *

I wake to the sound of my rooster watch crowing, groan softly and rub my eyes. I keep discovering new and fascinating ways to die. That's another one that I don't care to repeat. Ugh. 

I get dressed and head down to the common room and slump down at an empty table to do some homework. No sense in making any preparations to go anywhere. I can't go home again. 

Hermione and Neville come downstairs from opposite sides almost simultaneously, and come up to sit at my table. " _Muffliato_ ," Hermione says. Of course she's picked up that spell already. "So when are you planning to go?" 

"I already did," I say. "Sort of." 

"What happened?" Hermione asks. 

"Torn Elkandu has been abandoned," I say. "The Nexus has destabilized and deactivated. I managed to link up with it, but without it being properly calibrated, it fragmented me all over the multiverse, killing me." 

"Ouch," Neville says, wincing. "Now that's some nasty splinching." 

"I'm sorry," Hermione says. "I didn't mean for you to get killed for my sake..." 

"Don't worry about it," I say, smiling at Hermione. "I had to find out sooner or later, and it's good that I know now." I sigh softly. "I know it'll be a lot harder to go home than that. So I guess I'm trapped in this world until something sends me back to the start again. It's just as well, really. I have a lot to learn, and a lot I want to do here. Still, it would have been nice to have access to the Elkandu's resources." 

"It's too bad," Neville says. "I kind of wanted to see what another world looked like." 

"Hey, don't worry, there's still a way I can show you," I say. "Dumbledore's got a Pensieve in his office. I'm sure he'll let us use it if I ask him. It won't be the same as actually going there, since it'll just be memories and all, but it's something, right?" 

"Oh!" Neville says, brightening. "That would be neat." 

"That sounds like it would be a good idea," Hermione says. "Are you sure you want to show us your memories, though?" 

I chuckle softly. "Sure, why not? It's not like things were all that interesting before _that_ day, anyway. We can go see Dumbledore about it after breakfast." 

During breakfast, we eat at the Slytherin table as usual, underneath the Storm banner. As fun as yesterday's events were, it's good to be eating real food again. 

"Hey, Harry," Draco says. "You want to go practice dueling after breakfast?" 

I shake my head. "We're heading up to the Headmaster's office to view some of my memories." 

"Can I come, too?" Dean asks. 

"Even better," Draco says. 

"Who's invited?" Blaise asks. 

"You're not leaving me behind," Theodore says. 

I groan softly and put my face in my palm. "I really ought to not forget to put up privacy charms." I usually don't slip up like this. 

"Aw, am I out, then?" Blaise says. 

"What about me?" Crabbe asks. 

"And me?" Goyle adds. 

I sigh. "Alright, tell you what," I say. "Anyone within earshot is welcome to come along if they know Occlumency or is otherwise capable of shielding their mind from intrusion, and is willing to swear a vow of secrecy." 

"Aw," Crabbe says. 

"Oh well," Goyle says. 

"It's not that I don't trust you guys or anything," I say. "But I'm going to be showing some very sensitive things that it would be bad if they were to become widely known. I'm sure you can understand that." 

"If you want to learn Occlumency, I can lend you a book and help with it," Hermione offers. "But it'll probably be months if not years to master it." 

Hermione winds up letting Blaise borrow her book, and Neville lends his to Dean. That leaves our usual inner circle, plus Theodore, to head up to the Headmaster's office. I hate to leave the others out, but I've already blurted out too many secrets to people who can't protect them as it is. It's a wonder that everyone doesn't know them all already. The more people know something, the harder it is to keep it a secret. Which of them might be the weakest link? 

I lead the group up to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, and tell it, "Skittles." The way opens up, and we head up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. 

Dumbledore looks up from his desk, and says, "Is there a problem, children?" 

"Headmaster," I say. "May I request permission to use your Pensieve for a bit?" 

Dumbledore frowns. "What is it that you intend to show them?" 

"The truth," I say. 

"Are you certain that this is wise?" Dumbledore says. "I believe we agreed that the fewer people who knew, the better. And yet now you wish to bring in a small crowd of children? Your friend Neville was bad enough, but he was only one boy, and I accepted your trust in him and trained him myself to keep your secrets. But this? What are you playing at, my boy?" 

"I can't go home again," I say quietly, looking firmly at Dumbledore. "Everything I cared about there is gone. The only way back is to go forward. The only way to regain what I've lost will lead to me losing everything else I might gain." I sigh, shaking my head. "Anyway, they all agreed that they are capable of protecting their minds and willing to swear to secrecy about whatever they are to see." 

Dumbledore sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "If I believed that were sufficient, I would have brought Severus in on it," he says. 

"I wouldn't tell Snape everything," I say. "He has too much personal store in it, as do many other adults. But no, these are children. All they have are names and stories." 

"Let it be known that I do not like this," Dumbledore says. "But if you believe that you can trust them, then so be it. I will not and cannot control you. But if you are the least bit dissatisfied with their reactions to whatever you are to show them in the Pensieve, then tell me and I will Obliviate them. And if _I_ am dissatisfied, then I will Obliviate them myself." 

Everyone agrees with this stipulation and gives their oaths of secrecy on the matter. Then, I step over to the Pensieve and put my wand to my head, and pull out the memories I want to show them. Wishingsdale, Torn Elkandu... At least I'll get to see my home again, as it once was, at least for a little while, even if it's only a memory. 

And then we line up to enter the Pensieve, and I plunge inside first, mimicking what Dumbledore did when I saw him use it before. It's a little disorienting at first, and then I find myself there. Home. Wishingsdale. Standing on rolling green hills where fluffy sheep graze, and up on a nearby hill stands the Chelseer manor house, with horse pastures in back. The increase in gravity is comfortingly familiar after the years I've been away. 

One by one, my friends appear beside me and peer around at our surroundings. 

"What is this place?" Theodore wonders. 

"I feel like I've suddenly gained weight," Neville says. 

"Gah, the sun is so _bright_ ," Draco says. 

"Oh, wow," Luna murmurs. "I don't even know what to call half the things I'm seeing. There is so much magic here..." 

I chuckle softly, and say, "Welcome to Wishingsdale, on the world of Lezaria. And you're right, the gravity's a bit heavier, and the sun is brighter." 

"This is really another _planet_?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow. "Or at least the memory of one." 

"Indeed," I say. I point off to the object of the memory, a younger Lexen Chelseer riding a bay mare up the village road toward the manor. "There's me, nine years old." The younger me is a little smaller and lacks the curse scar Dumbledore gave me to imitate Harry Potter, but otherwise it's just like looking into a mirror. 

"Harry Potter grew up on another planet?" Theodore says in confusion as we follow along after the younger me. 

"Nope," I say. "Lexen Chelseer grew up on another planet. Whoever and whatever the real Harry Potter might have been, I'm not him." 

Theodore looks stunned. "And Dumbledore knows about this?" 

"He's the one who initially asked me to take Harry Potter's place," I say. I chuckle softly. "I don't think he expected that I'd not do it quietly, though." 

"So what happened to the real Harry Potter?" Theodore wonders. 

"Fell down the stairs and broke his neck," I say lightly. "I think Dumbledore was just too embarrassed to admit that to the world. Personally, I'm not too interested in saving Dumbledore's reputation. I have my own agenda, which primarily involves learning everything I can, changing the world how I see fit, and _living_ however I choose." 

"And the rest of you already knew all this?" Theodore asks, looking to the others. 

"Yeah," Draco says. "Although he hasn't told our parents yet." 

"And I'm not going to, either," I say. "I think it's best if I don't tell anyone who knew James and Lily Potter. They would probably not react very well." I have to wonder just how angry Snape was at Dumbledore in my last life. He was very amenable to _me_ , but I'm sure he was more than a little irritated at Dumbledore's lies and secrets. 

"That's true," Neville says. "I know I probably _should_ be more upset about it. But you're the only Harry Potter I've ever known. And it's not like you're a bad person or anything." 

The memory me has finished tending to his mare and putting her out to graze, and is heading back to the manor now. I go to follow the younger Lexen inside, with my friends trailing behind me. 

"This is a lovely house," Hermione says, looking around. "It's like a mansion!" 

"Like any of the old pureblood manors," Draco says, shrugging. 

"The Chelseer family goes back a long way," I say. "Although this house has only been here a little over three hundred years. I wish I could show you the old royal palace in Kedresida, where my ancestors used to live, when there was actually still a monarchy in Kedresida." 

"You're descended from actual royalty?" Draco says. 

"Over a thousand years back," I say, shrugging. "King Kolubran Seer had seven children, and the Chelseers were descended from the youngest one. Khasadala Seer. Who, according to legend, was a half-dragon." I snort softly. "Don't even ask me how that was supposed to work. I just assume magic was involved somehow, and leave it at that." 

We follow the memory of me down the corridor and into the kitchen. There's my mother seated at the table, watching my grandmother with her strange golden eyes. I say, "The one at the table is my mother, Anara. And the one cooking is my grandmother, Keliole." 

"Didn't you have any house-elves?" Draco asks. 

"There aren't any such things on Lezaria," I say. 

"And why do they have such long, pointed ears?" Draco goes on. 

" _Those_ are what we call elves," I say. 

Keliole pulls out a large, glowing, runed sword, and starts swinging it about wildly over a loaf of bread, a leg of ham, a block of cheese, and head of lettuce. Magically, several sandwiches wind up stacked neatly on the table in moments. 

Anara snorts softly. "You know, mother, you really shouldn't use family heirlooms like that," she says. "It's an ancient and powerful magical artifact, not a sandwich maker!" 

"Oh, do relax, Annie," Keli says. "It's not like Zarnith exactly minds or anything." 

"Yeah," says Hawthorne, standing in the doorway. "He's just a dirty old man inside a sword." My great-grandmother looks upon the scene with her bright green Chelseer eyes, and sweeps aside her flowing green cloak as she enters the kitchen. "But you really should wipe him off better afterward." She takes the sword and proceeds to clean it carefully. 

"That's my great-grandmother, Hawthorne," I say. 

"They don't look like magical beings to me," Draco says, frowning. "Just humans with pointy ears." 

Thelsa comes in next, and says, "Oh, we have sandwiches!" She looks exactly like my mother, except that her eyes are green. 

"And that's my aunt, Thelsa," I say. "She and my mother are identical twins. I'm told my mother's eyes used to be green, too, before I was born, but after she got back from the Galaxy Far, Far Away, they had turned golden." 

"Dark Side corruption," Hermione says, nodding sagely. 

"Someone better go find the girls, or they'll be late for lunch," Keli says. 

"We're right here!" says Helga, stepping into the kitchen, followed by Hilda. 

"And finally, Helga and Hilda," I say. "Thelsa's twin daughters. My first cousins." 

I just have to smile at seeing them all here again, alive and well. I think, one of these lifetimes, I might want to try to obtain a Pensieve of my very own, for my own personal use, whenever I wish to use it. 

"I don't know about all this marrying non-humans business," Draco says dubiously. 

"That's how Hawthorne's family felt about the marrying non- _elves_ business," I say with a smirk. "And all of the great wizards on Lezaria for the longest time were _elves_. Humans were looked down upon. There were a small minority of human wizards, while almost all elves had at least some magical ability. It wasn't until Hawthorne's time that wizards of other species were recognized. And part of that had to do with the unexpected discovery that the elves were originally humans who were modified millennia ago with magic." 

As they're eating the sandwiches Keli made, the memory Lexen speaks up. "Why don't I ever see any of my male ancestors around here? My father, my grandfather, even my great-grandfather?" 

Hawthorne says, "For starters, your great-grandfather is a useless drunk who just so happens to be the most powerful wizard on Lezaria, except for Sardill and I _refuse_ to sleep with Sardill. He probably doesn't even realize that he has another daughter." She sighs. "Silver never did get over losing his wife." 

"And your father and grandfather have never strayed too far from their home universes," Keli says. "Although Raistlin was certainly trying some interesting things when I left." 

"I don't think Anakin even realized other universes exist," Anara says. "But they had space travel in his universe, so they had quite a bit else to keep themselves occupied with." 

"Why didn't you tell them about it?" I ask. "They could have gone through the Nexus and have become great Elkandu." 

Anara shrugs. "Personally, I'd rather keep the Elkandu among home-grown wizards, if you know what I mean. If not only Lezarians, then at least people from our own universe. Bringing in outside blood is one thing, but I don't think we should share our secrets that easily." 

"So they did visit other universes..." Hermione breathes, eyes wide. 

"I see," says the memory Lexen. "Still, I wouldn't mind meeting them someday." 

"Don't bother, Lexen," Keli says. "They probably won't even realize you ever existed. We made sure of that before we left." 

"When do I get to visit other universes, too?" the young Lexen asks. 

"When you're old enough," Hawthorne says. "I'd prefer you to be at least thirteen before you start making trips to known safe universes, and seventeen before actually starting on real explorations, but you'll be sent to Torn Elkandu for magical training before that. But that'll probably be at least another year or two." 

"Why do I have to be so _old_?" says memory Lexen. 

"Exploration is a dangerous business, Little Storm," Hawthorne says gently. "I don't want to see you get into trouble before you're ready for it. Your magic hasn't even fully awakened and stabilized yet." 

"As I recall, mother," Keli says with a wry grin. " _You_ were gallavanting about the countryside and annoying powerful beings when you were _ten_." 

"Don't encourage him," Hawthorne says with a smirk. "And I was a reckless idiot with delusions of grandeur and no sense of self-preservation. It's a wonder I didn't get myself _killed_ along the way, and the only reason I survived was my natural magic resistance and the help of a very stubborn and patient were-horse." 

"Heh, she sounds a lot like you," Draco says lightly. 

"I can't wait to go on adventures of my own," memory Lexen says. 

The memory fades away, and is replaced by another one. Nighttime on Lezaria. The memory version of me isn't much older here, and is laying out on a hilltop gazing at the sky. Lezaria's two moons hang in the sky, both of them full tonight. 

"Two moons?" Neville says, looking up. 

"We call the white one Thondorron, and the green one Halladan," I say. 

Hawthorne peers intently at the stars. "Those definitely aren't Earth's constellations, either. This sky is very different from what we see in Astronomy class." 

After a couple minutes of looking at the sky, this memory disappears as well, and the scene is replaced by Torn Elkandu. 

"Oh, _this_ place is definitely not normal," Theodore says, looking at the swirling purple and black sky. 

Luna blinks. "And I thought there was a lot of magic on Lezaria," she says. "This place is _made_ of magic. This entire place is pulsing, breathing, it's like it's alive... And what are those little spiders running all over the place?" 

"I don't see any spiders," Theodore says dubiously. 

I lead them up to the center of the city, and say, "This is the Nexus. The heart of the universe. The connection to all places." I point to the elf woman with silver eyes and auburn hair standing nearby. "This is Keolah Kedaire, Keolah the Seeker, my distant cousin, and the leader of the Elkandu." 

"She plays Quidditch?" Theodore asks. 

"No," I say with a snort. "It means she can see things that most people can't see. Like Luna here." 

The cyan runes on the Nexus flare with brilliant light, and swirling, glowing mist fills the space between the eight obelisks. When it fades away, Sedder and several other of his followers are there, but Sardill is notably absent. 

"Sedder?" Keolah says, turning to them in alarm. "What are you doing-- gah!" Tendrils of shadow surround her suddenly and choke at her. 

"I've come to repay you for the humiliation you did me in exiling me as you did," Sedder snarls. "You will _all die_!" 

Keolah collapses to the ground. The memory version of me is approaching the Nexus from one of the eight roads leading off. 

"What have we here?" Sedder says. "A little Chelseer bratling, unless I miss my guess." 

I can't take my eyes off of the memory of myself as the scene plays out again before me. It seems like ages ago, and I was so small and helpless then. I don't feel like I've gone all that far in the years I've been on Wizarding Earth. I have a long way to go before I can hope to match this insane Shadow. Sedder laughs maniacally as he drains the life out of the younger me, and the scene shifts in the blink of an eye to me waking up in my bed in the School of Thought. 

"You... died?" Hermione says. 

I nod in agreement. "That was my first death." 

"Oh, Lexen..." Hermione says. 

"I'm sparing you watching them slaughter my family, though," I say. "I don't think that's necessary." 

The scene skips ahead to my final decision with Keolah, to travel the multiverse and try to gain the power to stop them. "How about this one?" says the memory Lexen, pointing to an image. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." 

Soon enough, the memory me steps into the Nexus and leaves Torn Elkandu behind, and the scene shifts to Hogsmeade for a few moments before the Pensieve ejects us, having completed the memories it was given. 

My friends are blinking and rubbing their eyes a little at the transition. "I don't know what to think of all that," Neville says. 

"That was _incredible!_ " Hermione exclaims. "Now, if I had some more time, I'd like to study the night sky on Lezaria for a bit longer to try to calculate where it might actually be located..." 

"I think that's enough of that," Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling. "You children were in there for well over an hour." 

"Oh," Hermione says sheepishly. "Sorry, Professor." 

"Are you all satisfied with what you've seen?" Dumbledore says, looking over each of my companions. 

"That was not at all what I was expecting," Theodore says. "They didn't even give me a hint as to what I was going into first. I'm going to need to think on this all." 

"Lexen's great-grandmother was a _total_ Gryffindor," Draco says, snickering. 

"Thanks for sharing that with us," Neville says. 

Luna is quiet, and Dumbledore looks to her and says, "Miss Lovegood?" 

"Sorry," Luna says. "Just thinking about what I saw and what it all means." 

"Does anyone need or wish to be Obliviated now?" Dumbledore asks. 

"I don't think that will be necessary, sir," I say, glancing to them. My friends shake their heads. "Just do please remember to keep calling me Harry, or at least Stormseeker." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "Run along then, children. I have much work to do." 

As we're turning to leave, I add, "And definitely no even hinting about any of that without a privacy spell up." 

"No kidding," Neville says. 

"I wish I had a Pensieve," Hermione says distantly.


	43. Building Storm

Draco takes a seat with us at the Slytherin Table for breakfast. "Guess what, guys? I just got the news. I made the Quidditch team! I'm now officially Slytherin's new Seeker!" 

"Congratulations," I say disinterestedly. 

" _Pretend_ to care, Stormseeker," Draco says, grabbing a plate of food. 

I chuckle softly, and say with exaggerated excitement, "That's totally wonderful, Draco! I knew you could do it! I'm totally, like, your biggest fan!" 

"Okay, you can stop pretending now," Draco says, smirking. "So, what about the rest of you? You lot going to support me, or what?" 

"I'm not really all that interested in Quidditch, but I'll certainly go to your games," Hermione says. 

"I don't know if I should be cheering on Slytherin," Neville says. "But I suppose I can support you in your games against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." 

Dean says, "I wish we could have a Storm Army Quidditch team." 

"Bah, why would we want to do that?" I say, rolling my eyes. 

"But Quidditch is _important!_ " Draco insists. 

"I'll come and cheer for you, Draco," Luna offers absently. 

"Thanks, Luna," Draco says. "I knew I may or may not be able to count on you." 

"When's the first game?" asks Theodore. 

"October 25th," Draco replies. 

"You aren't going to start missing Dueling Club meetings for practices now, are you?" I say. 

"Certainly not," Draco says. "Besides, even if the times conflict, I'm the Seeker, so it's not like I need to coordinate with the rest of the team, anyway." 

Yet another reason why Quidditch fails to interest me at all. I keep that to myself for the moment, however. But perhaps I shouldn't be so down upon it. After all, it seems a good way to build cooperation between members of a team. And it's not like broomstick riding is a completely useless skill. I could imagine that experience with Quidditch might come in handy for aerial combat, after all. 

* * *

"Professor Lockhart, would you like to join Lion Army?" Ron asks at the next Dueling Club. After the events of House-Elf Appreciation Day, our two groups are pretty much dead even so far as numbers go now. 

"Oh, no, no," Lockhart says. "I'll leave you children to your little groups. It would not be fair to the members of Storm Army to have someone of my level involved." 

"I'll take you on any day of the week, Lockhart," I put in. 

Lockhart casts a glare toward me, and says, "Besides, I was a Ravenclaw when I was in school. Don't you have too many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to be calling it Lion Army?" 

"Yeah, what about us?" Ernie MacMillan says. 

"Okay, okay, maybe not," Ron suggests. "I'll try and think of something else." 

"Now, Potter," Lockhart says. "I know you think a lot of your skills, but you certainly can't expect to take down a wizard of my caliber on your own, do you?" 

"Then duel me, Lockhart," I say. "Put your magic where your mouth is." 

"Very well, if you insist," Lockhart says. "I will need to hold back considerably, of course--" 

"Don't bother," I say. "Let's see what you've got." 

I step up to the stage and face off with Lockhart. I'd dearly love to wipe that charming smile off of his face. We bow to one another, and the duel begins. 

" _Tarantallegra!_ " I shout, and Lockhart starts dancing. Merely winning isn't good enough for me. I must completely humiliate him and demonstrate my superiority. 

" _Vexillum Spirato!_ " Lockhart exclaims. What in the Abyss was that supposed to be? I've never heard of that, if that's even a real spell at all. 

There's a ripping sound from overhead, and I glance up briefly as the Lion Army banner drops on top of my head. I'm sure it was purely coincidence that that happened. There's no way that Lockhart was _trying_ to do that. That'd be too competent. 

"Hah!" Lockhart says. "My brilliant spell has disabled you, Stormseeker!" 

As I struggle to get the flag off of my face, I realize that it's clinging to me unnaturally and tightening itself around my throat. I try to cry out for help or to cast a _Finite Incantatem_ , but I can't speak a word like this. 

"You fool, I think he's choking," Snape says. Too late, however. That's the last thing I hear before the world slips away. 

* * *

I wake as my rooster watch crows in my ear, and I have to sigh a little. Being killed by Lockhart is always embarrassing. It wouldn't be quite so bad if he'd at least do it _intentionally_ for once. Worse that I managed to choke to death before anyone even noticed something was wrong. 

I'm so irritated by the whole thing that I sit through breakfast again silently listening to the same conversation, and go through the entire session of Dueling Club without bothering to say a word that isn't casting a spell. 

Come evening, I sequester myself away in my dorm and pull out Tom Riddle's diary. "Lockhart makes me so angry sometimes that I could just murder him," I write. 

"So why don't you?" Tom replies. 

"I would if I thought I could get away with it," I write back. 

"So make a plan on how to get away with it," Tom suggests. 

"Even so, I wouldn't want to remove him before the end of the school year, anyway," I write. 

"Why?" Tom asks. 

"Because he's useless, but he makes for a good enough Professor Placeholder, I suppose," I tell him. 

"And yet if he makes you so angry, he must be causing trouble for you in some way," Tom replies. 

I sigh softly. "You have a point." 

"Tell me more about this Lockhart," Tom reads. 

"Gilderoy Lockhart is the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," I write. "He's a Mudblood with delusions of grandeur. He's utterly useless as a wizard. The only thing he's good at is Obliviation, and has used that to take credit for the deeds of others. The only reason I ever tried to get on his good side at all was so that he wouldn't have a reason to Obliviate me." 

"I see," Tom replies. "And you would like very much to see him dead, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes," I write. "I hate him and want him to die." 

"Even I can feel your hatred from here..." Tom comments. "Would you like to do the deed yourself, or would you be satisfied that he merely ends up dead?" 

"It doesn't matter," I write. "At least if he's dead, he's no longer a threat to me. I just don't care to face any consequences for murdering him." 

"Very well." 

* * *

For the first Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin is playing against Gryffindor. We all come along to give our support to Draco. Even Neville compromised and wound up wearing both green and red, making him look like he's preparing for Christmas. Some of the older Slytherins might give us some odd looks for wearing green and cheering them on -- Luna is even wearing a cobra costume -- but they've gotten used to seeing us around the Slytherin table enough that they don't give us a second look. 

I try to pay attention to the game, but I never did quite bother actually learning the rules. Ball gets tossed around, ball goes through hoop. Then Draco and the Gryffindor Seeker both shoot off after something at the same time. 

"Did they see the Snitch?" Neville says. 

"Oh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger," Luna says absently. 

"You're such a traitor," hisses Ron's voice in my ear. " _Incendio!_ " 

"Gah!" I cry, batting at my burning robes frantically. 

"Ron!" Dean cries. "What are you _doing?_ " 

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Hermione snaps, but my hot, burning robes are unaffected. Probably because they're already on fire, I imagine. 

As my friends restrain Ron, I dance around in a panic trying to strip my flaming robes off. Hot, hot, hot! I go tumbling out of the stands and fall onto the Quidditch pitch below. There's a crunch and a sickening pain, but I don't immediately die. I must have broken something that _wasn't_ my neck this time. That's a switch. Ah, looks like it was just my left arm. 

"Mr. Potter!" Lockhart's voice calls, and I see him approaching me in dread. "What are you doing?" 

"Gah!" I scream. Tossing aside the remaining burning fragments of cloth, I proceed to dash naked across the Quidditch pitch to get away from Lockhart, broken arm dangling painfully at my side. 

"What are you _doing_ , Stormseeker?" says Draco's voice by my ear. I glance aside, and see him keeping pace with me on his broom. 

"Running from Lockhart!" I explain. "Just ignore me. Go... do whatever you're supposed to do." 

"But, Stormseeker, the Snitch is right in front of you," Draco says as if I'm an idiot. 

I blink and look ahead and see a glittering golden tiny winged ball. "Oh," I say dumbly. 

Then one of the large, heavy balls comes streaking toward us, and Draco gets out of the way, leaving it to smash right into my head. 

* * *

My rooster watch crows. I groan softly and roll over, pulling my pillow over my head. That was the most pathetic death I've had yet, I think. 

I head down to the common room and see Ron playing chess with Seamus. I'm sorely tempted to get a little payback for that foolishness. My fists clench in anger as I look at him. Does Ron really think himself a champion of the light, playing dangerous pranks upon me? What kind of twisted paragon of virtue does he really think he is? 

It's hard to see any trace of the Ron Weasley I once thought of as almost a brother in this boy sitting before me here today. 

" _Pogontrophus_ ," I mutter, and Ron spontaneously sprouts a full beard. I walk innocently away as he's peering about to see who cast that. 

"Potter!" Ron exclaims. "You undo that this minute, or I'll tell Professor McGonagall!" 

"Why don't you do it yourself?" I snap back at him. "Of course, you'll need a razor, or a Shaving Charm..." Since the Beard-Growing Jinx actually forces the body to grow the hair itself, it can't be canceled quite so simply. "Or do you want to publicly admit that you _are_ just a child who doesn't know the first thing about facial hair?" 

"Harry, that was uncalled for," says Hermione. Then she adds quietly, "Even if he _is_ a bit of an arse sometimes." 

This time, when we go to the Quidditch game after breakfast, I mutter a " _Locus Timoris_ " over our spot in the stands, to keep away any unwanted visitors. I might wind up getting some odd reactions from passersby, but I really don't want Ron to set my robes on fire again. At least the entire area within the spell's effect is filled with my supporters, who can pass freely anyway. 

The game ends in Draco catching the Snitch, and I stand up and cheer loudly, even though my only indication of what was actually going on was the announcer and the scoreboard. But they said Draco won the game, so I'll take their word on it. 

"That was awesome, Draco!" I say as we're clustered around the winning team. "You totally caught that tiny, sparkling thing out of the sky! You really showed those Gryffindors!" 

Draco laughs aloud. "You know what this means, don't you?" 

"What?" I ask. 

"It's party time!" Draco exclaims. 

He drags us all the way back to the Slytherin common room for the after-game celebrations. Even the Neville, Hermione, and Luna. It doesn't take long for one of the upper year Slytherins to notice this and take exception to it. 

"Hey, you're not supposed to bring outsiders into our common room!" says the boy. 

"Oh, relax, Flint," Draco says. "They can be honorary Slytherins for today!" 

A seventh year girl says, "But you even brought in the Mudblood girl, too!" 

Draco looks at her darkly. "Don't you go saying anything bad about Ravenclaw's secret heir in _my_ presence, you hear me?" 

"Whatever," the girl says, rolling her eyes. "Look, I don't care about your stupid little Storm Army thing, but it's not like these people are actually Slytherins, you know?" 

"Oh, leave them alone," says one of the Slytherin Quidditch players. "It's harmless, and we're supposed to be celebrating here!" 

"And that one, Longbottom isn't he? He couldn't even decide on who to support!" says Flint. "Come on, we've got to have some standards. At least make him get rid of the Gryffindor colors first!" 

"But my trousers are red," Neville protests. 

"You should have thought of that before you came in here, shouldn't you?" Flint says. "Off with them!" 

A couple older Slytherins grab Neville and proceed to try to remove his pants. I say, "Hey, leave him alone!" 

"Oh, this is stupid," says a prefect girl. " _Relashio_ ," she mutters, and the others immediately release Neville. " _Multicorfors_." Neville's offending clothing immediately changes from red to green. "Happy now? Let's get on with the party." 

"Thanks," Neville says. 

"Don't mention it," says the prefect. 

"What a nasty infestation of nargles," Luna observes distantly. 

The party continues without any further incidents. The Slytherins don't even seem to mind the presence of a Mudblood too much. It seems to me like they're far more willing to believe that she really is a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw, than that an actual Muggleborn witch is at the top of her year. Personally, I have no idea whether she is or not, but I'm kind of glad that I started that rumor. All it takes is dropping the very suggestion of it, and the Slytherins drop the subject quickly. 

That evening, I find myself curled up with Tom Riddle's diary again. "Ron Weasley makes me so angry, too," I write. 

"A Weasley?" Tom replies. "Are they still a family of blood traitors?" 

"He thinks _I'm_ a traitor for hanging out with Slytherins all the time," I write. "I don't think he even considers that _he_ is the reason we don't get along. It's not like I ever did anything to him first." 

"Be at ease, Lexen," Tom tells me. "The blood traitors and Mudbloods will soon be shown their place once again." 

"Oh, no, no no," I write. "It would look really, really bad if anything were to happen to Ron. He's placed himself as my biggest rival, made himself out to be some sort of champion of the light, and gathered about a large group opposing mine. But my Storm Army has been steadily growing." 

"Storm Army?" Tom asks. 

"Yeah. I've got a group of students gathered around myself, as the Stormseeker. Mostly Slytherins and Ravenclaws, with a handful of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs scattered in as well." 

"I see," Tom reads. "And what are the objectives of this Storm Army of yours?" 

"Objectives?" I write. "Well, nothing in particular at the moment, but we did have a big event last month with House-Elf Appreciation Day. That was a lot of fun. I got to bake a cake for Hermione. She hasn't doubted me since then." 

"Do you feel that you are compromising your principles in order to stay on good terms with the Mudblood girl?" Tom asks. 

"Not at all," I write. "It was merely a reminder that we do still share the same principles." 

"I see," Tom replies. "Then I commend you on the bold application of your noble cause. So, what do you intend to do about this Ron Weasley, then?" 

"Undermine him, for starters," I write. "I'm wearing away his support little by little. But this was more through making myself look good rather than through making _him_ look bad. Eh, I'll think of something. It would be really nice if I could somehow actually sway him to my side, but I really doubt that that's ever going to happen. The entire Weasley family is against me because of my relationship with the Malfoys, and things have just gone downhill from there, what with rumors of me being a dark wizard and all." 

"Are there any of them that seem more open-minded than the others?" Tom asks. 

"Ginny, maybe," I reply. "She's the only one I've heard express doubt about their assessment of me. And I doubt that would help, anyway. They'd probably get up in arms about me messing with their little sister or something if I tried anything with her." 

Things would be so much simpler if I were on good terms with all of my dorm mates and at least most of my house mates. As it is, I can't help but feel sometimes, and not for the first time, that I might have been better off in Slytherin. Why did I want to be in Gryffindor so badly even under the circumstances I found myself under? Wasn't it to try to prove that they were wrong about me? I've done a smashing job of that so far. 

"Are you prepared to enter the Chamber of Secrets on Halloween?" Tom asks. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Are you willing to do whatever is required of you in order to attain your goals?" Tom asks. 

"Yes," I reply. "You know my conditions." 

If something somehow goes horribly wrong, and people I care about wind up dead, I will not only look for a way to destroy this diary, but will do so diligently in every other lifetime I spend in this world. But for now, I have no reason to distrust Tom Riddle. And I really want to see the secrets of Salazar Slytherin. And if someone like Lockhart winds up dead in the process... well, I won't feel particularly bad about that, I don't think.


	44. Into the Chamber

Halloween morning dawns. It's just as well that it falls on a Saturday this year, because I doubt I could concentrate on classes at the moment. My heart is pounding in anticipation. I can hardly eat, I can hardly sleep. I want it to be night already, and not have to deal with Dueling Club at the moment. Ah, well. At least I can hex the crap out of Ron for a bit. 

"Stormseeker," Luna says after Dueling Club. "Would you like to come to Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party with us?" 

"Who is going?" I wonder. 

"I don't know," Luna says. "Probably primarily ghosts, one poltergeist, and perhaps a large number of nargles." 

I would feel bad about dragging Storm Army to this event, although Hermione might find it fascinating. I certainly don't really care to go again. I'd much rather be down in the Chamber of Secrets, studying. Although I really ought to have at least some sort of excuse for where I am. 

"Nah, I think I'm just going to go to bed early," I say. "Do some studying and get some rest. I've no interest in going to the feast or any parties at the moment, really." 

"Alright," Luna says. "Do you think anyone else might be interested? Those poor ghosts seem so ignored." 

"I don't know," I say. "You might ask Hermione. Could you let the others know that I'm heading back to my dorm and not to bother me unless it's an emergency, please?" 

"I'll do that, Stormseeker," Luna says. She cocks her head and looks at me oddly. "Is that what you really intend to do?" 

"What do you mean?" I ask. 

"This is the strongest time of the year for dark magic," Luna says. "And you _are_ a dark wizard. If you're intending to sneak off to take advantage of Samhain to perform a dark ritual, you might need a better alibi. One of your dorm mates might inadvertently realize you're not there." 

Luna is entirely too perceptive at times. "Um..." I say, peering about the corridor to make sure that nobody hear that. " _Muffliato_. Not precisely, but you have a point. What would you suggest?" 

"Well, if you intend to be out after curfew, then pretending to already be in your dorm would be wise," Luna says. "But I'll let Neville, Dean, and Hermione know that they should not check for you there no matter what happens." 

"Thanks, Luna," I say. 

"Do try to avoid anything bad happening to you, Stormseeker," Luna says. "There are an awful lot of nargles out tonight." 

I head up to my dorm to put a Revulsion Curse over my bed. With that in place, I slip on my invisibility cloak and head out again. There are too many people in the common room to just go out through the portrait hole while invisible, so I quietly stand around by it and wait a few minutes for someone to go out, and creep out after them. From there, it's a straightforward matter to head down to the first floor girls' restroom, where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is. 

The room is flooded with a layer of water. It looks like Myrtle is in one of her typical moods. At least she isn't paying attention to what's actually happening in the restroom at the moment. I pull out Tom Riddle's diary and write, "I'm at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. What do I do now?" 

"You will need to let me take control of your body in order to open the way inside," Tom reads. 

I frown deeply, and shudder at the thought. "I really would rather not have to do that," I write. "Isn't there another way? Couldn't you just tell me how to open it? What the Parseltongue password is?" 

"You said you were willing to do whatever it takes," Tom replies. "Are you backing out now? You are not a Parselmouth. You won't be able to get inside without the help of one." 

"Couldn't I just learn Parseltongue or something?" I write. 

"No," Tom tells me. "Parseltongue is a magical language. You need to be born with it in order to speak it. It cannot be learned." 

I frown deeply. I would really rather not let _anyone_ control me, but if it's the only way to get me inside, what else can I do? There's no way I'm going to convince Salazar Slytherin's portrait again. I write, "Alright, but only for as long as is necessary to do what you need to do, and no longer." 

"Agreed," Tom writes. "Prepare yourself." 

My head suddenly starts spinning, and there's a strange sensation like worms crawling under my skin, and then the world goes dark. 

* * *

When I come to my senses again, I find myself standing inside of the Chamber of Secrets. A surge of glee floods through me. Tom got me inside! This is wonderful! Time to do some exploring and see what all is down here. 

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I don't see any sign of the basilisk. What had happened before? It had come out of that statue, didn't it? After Slytherin's portrait had hissed at it... That might make it difficult to actually kill the thing. I set off my watch to crow on the off chance that it's close enough to hear, but if it works, there's no indication thereof. So I just go off to search for Slytherin's personal library instead. 

After a bit of searching, I find it. The place is huge, and _old_. Shelves upon shelves of books of all different shapes and sides line the walls. I wonder how many books are here, and whether this place is magically expanded for space. Obviously, the books themselves must have preservation spells placed upon them, although in one section toward the back, the spells appear to have failed. I don't dare touch these crumbling books that look as though they'd simply fall apart at the slightest touch. 

So, I start peering through the shelves of intact books, looking for any titles that sound interesting. That's when I realize something. These books don't even seem to be written in English! There's a large number that appear to be in Latin, as well as many more in languages I don't recognize, some of them even written in scripts I can't read. What am I supposed to do with this? 

I pull out Tom Riddle's diary and write, "I'm in Slytherin's library. Tell me, are any of these books written in English?" 

"Certainly," Tom replies. "Middle English, anyway." 

"Middle English?" I wonder. 

"Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, you know," Tom tells me. "You didn't think that they spoke modern English back then, did you?" 

I stare at the words on the page, and have to laugh bitterly. All this trouble to get down here, and it's all useless to me! Well, I'm not about to give up that easily. I'll just have to learn Latin or Middle English or whatever some of these other languages are. How hard could it be? And then I can practice translating with one of these books. I should really take at least a couple of them out of here so that I don't have to come back anytime soon. 

"Alright," I write back to Tom. "Help me out here, then. Give me an idea on where to start. Which of these books might contain magic that I might be capable of learning, or knowledge that I might wish to know?" 

"Hmm," Tom replies. "A number of these books detail magic that is only useable by a Parselmouth, so that would not be useful to you. There's also a fair bit of obscure and complicated dark magic that's probably beyond your level. Salazar Slytherin didn't exactly keep beginner's guides to the Dark Arts in his secret private library. Now, as for knowledge, what are you interested in learning about? There are, after all, quite a large number of books in here." 

I have to think about that for several minutes. Of course I fantasize about learning everything that I possibly can, but I know I have a long way to go. I'm on my fourth year of magical education, but my learning beyond the second year is patchy and uneven. Still, this is an opportunity that I don't want to waste. 

"Something that has been forgotten by modern wizards," I write. "Something about the way magic really works, and not just spells and formulas to memorize. Is there anything like that?" 

"Ah, Lexen, I knew I hadn't underestimated you," Tom replies. "You have the potential to go very far indeed." He gives me the titles of three books, and after some searching, I locate them and tuck them carefully away in my bag of holding. They're all written in Latin, so at least I won't need to delve into _multiple_ foreign languages in order to try to decipher them. There's the _Grimorium Antiqui_ , the _Clavicula Potentiae_ , and the _Ars Magicarum_. 

With that, I head on out of the Chamber of Secrets. I'd rather not go poking around at unknown books or dark artifacts on my first visit down here in this life. That sort of practice has a high chance of getting me killed by accidentally triggering safeguards on things. Instead, I just head out the doors, which slam shut on their own behind me, past a large shed basilisk skin, and to the pipe I slid down on a lifetime ago. Except that it's not a smooth pipe this time, but a staircase. Well, that makes things easier. I climb up the stairs and out into Moaning Myrtle's restroom, and the passageway closes behind me, looking like nothing more than an ordinary sink again. 

I step outside of the restroom, splashing through the small flood on the floor, and almost trip over Mr. Filch's corpse. 

Wait, what? 

I poke the prone form of the Hogwarts caretaker with a toe. Looks dead to me. Did I somehow accidentally unleash the basilisk when I went down into the Chamber? And then I notice the writing on the wall. 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. 

I groan softly. There must be some sort of automatic mechanism set into place for that. A contingency spell somewhere, I imagine. I hadn't anticipated something like that. I'd hoped to just be able to get down there quietly and look around without anyone the wiser. 

"Potter," says Lockhart's voice as he approaches me from behind. "What has happened here?" 

"I didn't do it," I say quickly, spinning around to look at him. 

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Lockhart says, and my wand flies out of my hand and some way down the corridor. Crap. Well, I suppose when he sticks to real spells, he's not _completely_ useless. "So, Potter, did _you_ somehow discover Salazar Slytherin's legendary Chamber of Secrets?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply. "I was just walking down the corridor, and I stumbled over Filch. Is he... dead, sir?" 

Lockhart clearly isn't buying the act. "How did you get into the Chamber of Secrets?" he demands. 

"I don't know!" I say. "I mean, I didn't get in! I mean--" 

Lockhart pushes up against me, pressing me against the wall with one hand and the other holding his wand to my face. "You know, I could always drag you to my office and introduce you to my private stash of Veratiserum if you're not willing to talk." 

This is bad. "Look, sir," I say. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know nothing about the Chamber of Secrets." 

"Perhaps you're right," Lockhart concedes. "Perhaps you're telling the truth. I really doubt that you have a drop of Slytherin's blood in your veins, after all, as much as you enjoy hanging around with them. You're no Parselmouth. Still, this could be a great discovery. If nothing else, _I'm_ going to be the one to start this investigation, not some student who just got lucky and stumbled upon something completely by chance." 

"I don't believe in luck," I mutter. 

"So, my apologies, little brat of a Potter," Lockhart sneers. "But you're going to have to forget what you've discovered here. _Obliv_ \--" 

_Slam._ My fist connects with Lockhart's jaw. It seems I've discovered a way to counter Memory Charms without a wand. Although it certainly made my hand sting. 

"Why, you little..." Lockhart snarls, trying to restrain me. 

I headbutt Lockhart in the face, and then knee him in the crotch. Neither of us is particularly good with physical combat, but at least I have agility over Lockhart's raw adult strength, and I was able to catch him by surprise. I manage to escape from his grasp and tumble down the corridor, to where my wand landed. I fumble at it to get it at ready again. 

" _Oblivia_ \--" 

" _Flipendo!_ " I exclaim. " _Expelliarmus!_ " Lockhart gets knocked back by my bolt of blue energy, but he manages to keep his wand from being disarmed by my second spell. 

My mind is racing with any spells that I can safely cast upon him without undue consequences. Assuming someone doesn't try to arrest me for assaulting a teacher. But still, easier and safer to claim self-defense if I stick to the non-dark spells that I'm actually supposed to know. I've read up on the Stunning Spell by this point, but haven't had a chance to actually practice it on a real target yet, since it's a bit beyond where we should be at in the second year Dueling Club. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Lockhart casts, leaping to his feet. 

" _Stupe--_ damnit," I say. Not quick enough. My wand flies out of my hand again. I don't even manage to see where it went this time. 

" _Obliviate!_ " Lockhart shouts as I duck into the restroom, barely avoiding the spell. 

No good fighting him in the open corridor without a wand. At least in here, there's some things I can hide behind. If I do this right, I might even manage to get him trapped in here, rather than me being cornered in here as it currently stands. 

"There's no use in hiding, Potter," Lockhart says, feet splashing as he steps inside. " _Obliviate!_ " The spell harmlessly strikes a stall divider. 

I tumble through the water underneath the dividers and into another stall. "Myrtle!" I cry out. "Distract him and I'll be your friend forever!" 

"What's this?" Myrtle says, rising out of her toilet. "What's going on here?" 

" _Obliviate!_ " cries Lockhart as I slam the stall door in his face. 

"See for yourself," I say, reaching under the stall door to grab at Lockhart's ankles and yank them out from under him. 

Myrtle floats through the stalls and lets out a long, "Woooooo!" 

I crawl out from under the stall dividers and back into the open part of the restroom again. Lockhart is poking into one of the stalls looking for me, now trying to chase after Myrtle's splashing sounds. I take advantage of this distraction to dart out of the restroom and hunt for my wand. There it is, lodged half underneath Filch's corpse. I retrieve it and go back inside. 

A stall door opens, Lockhart standing inside and pointing his wand at me. " _Obliviate!_ " he shouts. 

I dive out of the way. The spell strikes the mirror behind me. There's a flash as it reflects straight back at Lockhart. It hits him square in the face. His eyes take on a glassy, distant expression, much like Luna bears much of the time. 

" _Stupefy_ ," I cast, and Lockhart slumps to the floor, unconscious. I quickly reach in and grab his wand before he has a chance to regain his senses. I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against the sink to catch my breath. "Thanks, Myrtle," I say. "I totally love you now. You're the most awesome ghost in the castle." 

"Oh... that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Myrtle says. 

I make a mental note that, no matter what else happens or in what lifetime I find myself in, I'll see about doing what I can to make Myrtle happy. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," I say. "I'm Harry Potter." 

"You already knew my name," Myrtle says. "Have they been telling nasty stories about me again?" 

"I've heard mention of you," I say carefully. "But it's mostly that the girls don't want to use this restroom because you're always crying and flooding the place." 

"They call me names!" Myrtle exclaims. "And I'm always so miserable, sitting in my toilet alone, thinking about death..." 

"You can always feel free to visit me anytime you like," I say. "And if you don't, I'll come down here myself and see how you're doing. You don't have to always be alone and miserable, Myrtle." 

"So you'd really be my friend?" Myrtle says. "I thought you were just saying that, you know..." 

"I'd really be your friend," I say. "I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. But I'll get back to your later. I promise. I just really need to take care of Lockhart here before somebody notices the corpse outside." 

"Well, alright," Myrtle says. "But if you're not back soon, I'll come and haunt you for breaking your promise!" 

I go over and try to lift Lockhart's unconscious body, thankful that my Stunning Spell has actually worked and kept him down. Umph, he's heavy. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," I mutter, but it doesn't really help much. What was that spell Snape used to haul him to the hospital wing before? " _Mobilicorpus_ ," I cast. Lockhart's body jerks and he slams his head into the toilet. Oops. I wince. Maybe I should just stick to dragging him myself. 

I step outside of the restroom, and see Professor McGonagall approaching Filch's corpse in alarm. Well, I guess I don't have to worry about hauling Lockhart around, then. "Professor McGonagall!" I exclaim in feigned happiness. "I'm so glad you're here. Professor Lockhart hurt! Can you help me get him to the hospital wing?" 

" _Mobilicorpus_ ," McGonagall casts at Lockhart's unconscious body, and I pay better attention to the wand movements as she does it. Maybe I should just look it up, if I can figure out what book it's in. "Tell me what happened here along the way." 

"I don't know, Professor," I lie. "They were like this when I found them." 

"And you just stumbled upon this scene by chance?" McGonagall says dubiously. "What were you even doing here so close to curfew?" 

I didn't realize it was so late. I glance at my watch. How long did I spend down there? I must have lost track of time looking through Slytherin's library. "It wasn't curfew yet," I say quickly. "I was going down to the kitchens to get a snack since I missed the feast." 

"Why weren't you at the feast?" McGonagall asks. 

"I didn't really feel like going," I say, feigning sadness. "You know, my parents died on Halloween, after all..." 

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry," McGonagall says. Thankfully, she doesn't bring up the fact that it didn't seem to have bothered me last year. 

We get to the hospital wing shortly, and Madam Pomfrey gives Lockhart a look over. "Hmm, looks like he was hit by a Stunning Spell," Pomfrey says. " _Rennervate_." 

Lockhart blinks and comes to. "Huh? What? Where am I? What happened?" 

"We were hoping you could shed some light on that, Gilderoy," McGonagall says. 

"The last thing I remember was being at the Halloween Feast," Lockhart says, frowning. 

"It appears that Professor Lockhart has been Obliviated," Pomfrey says. 

"No doubt he saw something he shouldn't have," McGonagall shakes her head. "Mr. Potter! Come with me. We must see the Headmaster at once." 

"Yes, ma'am," I say, following her obediently, although I'd really rather just get off the hook and go to bed already. 

We arrive at Dumbledore's office, and McGonagall says, "Headmaster, something has happened. There's a message on the wall about the Chamber of Secrets having been opened. Argus... I'm afraid I believe he's dead. Gilderoy was found stunned inside the nearby restroom. Mr. Potter here arrived on the scene first." 

"What happened, Harry?" Dumbledore asks me. 

"I don't know," I say, repeating my story about going down for a snack before curfew and stumbling upon the scene. 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "It appears that young Harry here was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could you escort him back to his common room, Minerva? I will deal with the situation at the restroom in question." 

"Of course, Albus," McGonagall says. 

"And Harry," Dumbledore adds as we turn to leave. "Do be discreet about who you mention these events to. I would prefer if you did not mention them to anyone, but that seems to be asking a bit much from you." 

"Sorry, Headmaster," I say sheepishly, looking at the floor. 

McGonagall escorts me back to the Gryffindor Tower, and I step inside. I want to just head upstairs to my dormitory. I'd really rather not have to deal with answering anymore questions for anyone at the moment. I need to go tell Tom what happened and question him about how the basilisk got out. 

"Potter!" Ron says. "Weren't you supposed to be upstairs in our dorm, asleep already?" 

"I snuck out to get a snack from the kitchens since I missed the feast," I reply. Best to stick to the same lie. "Why, did you miss me?" 

"That's funny," Ron says. "I don't think anyone here saw you leave." 

There's some murmurs of agreement from around the room, until Dean pipes in, "I did. He walked right past me on the way out and told me where he was going." 

Neville adds, "Yeah. Just because you were too busy playing Exploding Snap doesn't mean stuff isn't still happening right under your noses!" 

"Well, of course _you_ lot would defend him," Ron says, snorting softly. "He's got the lot of you brainwashed, I say." 

"Alright, calm down, all of you," says a prefect girl. "No starting up a war in the middle of the common room." 

"I wasn't going to--" Ron protests. 

"Enough, Ronald," says the prefect. 

Ron grumbles a little, but goes quiet. I sigh a little and go over to sit with my friends. So much for just quietly coming in and going to bed. " _Muffliato_ ," I murmur. "Thanks for covering for me." 

"Where did you _really_ go?" Hermione asks. 

I flash her a small grin. "I found a secret library hidden in the school," I tell her. "I brought back some books to look over, but they're in Latin. Maybe you could help me translate them?" 

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione says, brightening instantly. "That's wonderful! I'll be happy to help. But are you sure it's alright? This isn't like, sneaking into the Restricted Section or anything, is it?" 

"I don't think there's any specific school rule that says I shouldn't be in there," I say, shrugging. "Although that might be because whoever wrote the school rules didn't know that the place existed, I'm sure. And it _was_ still before curfew, so I didn't really break any rules at all, right?" 

"What sort of books did you find?" Neville asks. 

"I'm not going to pull them out here," I say. "We can look at them tomorrow in the sleeping dragon room. I don't suppose any of you have any books on Latin, do you? No? Not even Hermione? Blast. I suppose I'll have to owl order one myself, then." 

I didn't really want to have to share my treasures, but it's all good. Hermione would be a big help in translating and deciphering the information. And the best lie is the truth, after all. I'm just not going to tell them that this secret, hidden, amazing library was actually inside of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. I just hope that none of the books I brought out have any particularly dark subject matter. 

"Alright," Hermione says. "We can take a look after breakfast. How many books did you bring?" 

"Just three," I say. "But there's a lot more down there. They're all really _old_ , though, and I can't read the languages they're written in." 

"You've got to show me this place sometime," Hermione says. 

I shake my head. "That probably won't be possible. It was hard enough to get inside myself. I don't know if I'd even be able to get in a second time, never mind bring anyone else with me." 

"Oh," Hermione says. "Well, we could still try. But these books will be good to start with. I suppose it would be kind of pointless to go back if we can't actually read the books yet." 

"I wonder why they don't offer a course on Latin at Hogwarts," I say absently. "Anyway, I'd best get to bed. Tired." 

"Good night, Stormseeker," Hermione says. 

I head upstairs and tuck myself away safely in my bed, and pull out Tom Riddle's diary now that I have some privacy. "That was less than fun," I write. "On the way out, I stumbled across the corpse of that old Squib caretaker, and then got ambushed by Lockhart, who proceeded to attempt to Obliviate me. Thankfully, I managed to get him to accidentally Obliviate himself instead." 

"You were most fortunate," Tom replies. 

"But still, what was that, Tom?" I ask. "You didn't warn me that opening the Chamber of Secrets would make that message appear on the walls. I really need to learn more about contingency spells. And how did the basilisk get out? I got caught by Professor McGonagall and got dragged to the Headmaster, and had to talk my way out of trouble." 

"Ah, my apologies," Tom reads. "I did not realize that contingency spell was still active. And I'm afraid that anytime you wish to enter the Chamber of Secrets, there's a very high chance that the basilisk will be able to get out and attack someone. It's unfortunate that it did not catch that Mudblood professor you hate instead." 

"Yeah, no kidding," I write. "So that's a risk I have to take if I ever want to go down there, huh? Very well. ... I'm not going to mind that overly much if it goes after Lockhart next, though. I'm going to be spending all my spare time studying Latin for the next while, however." 

"Do let me know if you should wish to descend into the Chamber again," Tom tells me. 

"I'll do that," I write. Maybe I could do it after the students go home from school at the end of the year, and if I can get the house-elves to bring me food down there, I could spend the entire summer there reading. But otherwise, I'd really rather not risk any students being killed.


	45. Sacrifice for Knowledge

The next day, Dumbledore solemnly announces at breakfast, "Students, I regret to inform you that the Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch, passed away last night. Also, in completely unrelated news, the area around the first floor girls' lavatory is considered off-limits to all students at this time." 

Although the students don't seem to be especially saddened by Filch's death, speculation runs rampant as to what happened. "That's Moaning Myrtle's restroom, isn't it?" Hermione says thoughtfully. 

"That's always been out of order," says a prefect girl. 

"Maybe he was trying to finally get it working again, and something went horribly wrong," Neville suggests. 

"Either way, good riddance, I say," Draco says. "It's not like Hogwarts really needs him around, anyway, what with the house-elves to take care of everything. I'll bet Dumbledore just gave the useless Squib a job out of pity." 

"We shouldn't rely so much on the house-elves," Hermione says, then adds quietly, "Although I agree that I don't think one Squib was actually doing all that much, comparatively." 

"I think his only purpose was to get students in trouble for stupid things," Dean says, making a face. 

"You're quieter than usual this morning, Harry," Theodore observes. 

"I am?" I say. "Oh, I was just thinking. Don't mind me." 

"You have yellow grackles around you," Luna points out. "Oh, and a wrackspurt flitting about your head." 

Which ones were the yellow grackles again? Black for murder, red for intentional killing in battle, yellow for accidental, I think it was. So, I didn't mean to cause Filch's death... but I still did. 

"Excuse me," I say. "I don't really feel like eating at the moment." 

That's not really accurate. I'm half starved. I didn't eat dinner yesterday at all, despite my excuse about going to get a snack. Still, I never liked Filch, but he didn't deserve to die like that. The others won't ask Luna what the grackles mean, though, at least. They never do. 

I slip off into a nook where nobody is watching and pull on my invisibility cloak. With that, I make my way to Myrtle's restroom. It looks like they've placed the same sort of spell over the area that they did before. It'll keep out most of the students, sure, but won't interfere with anyone who already knows about the secret that it's protecting. I enter the restroom and put away my cloak. 

"Hello, Myrtle," I say. "Are you here?" 

"Oh!" Myrtle says, popping out of her toilet and hovering in the air before me. "You came back, Harry! You actually kept your promise!" 

I grin broadly. "I don't make a habit of breaking promises," I say. "How are you doing, Myrtle?" 

"Still dead!" Myrtle says brightly. 

"By the way," I say. "They've magically sealed off this area to keep any of the students from wandering by. So nobody else is likely to be coming in and visiting you. Or bothering you. Unless they're here to investigate what happened to Filch and Lockhart. I don't know how long they'll keep the protections up, but likely until they figure out how to get rid of whatever put that message on the wall. Which could be all year." 

"Oh," Myrtle says. "Well, it's not like anyone but you ever wanted to visit me anyway." 

"Still, I won't always be able to sneak down here," I say. "Since the area is sealed off, it'll get suspicious if I'm hanging around here a lot. Why don't you come out and hang out with me and my friends sometimes? Anytime you like. I'll make sure that nobody makes fun of you." 

"Hmm," Myrtle says thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad." 

"Why don't you come join us in the Great Hall?" I suggest. "There's still some time left in breakfast. My friends are probably still there." 

"I don't know..." Myrtle says dubiously. 

"Come on, it'll be fun," I say. "And if anyone says anything bad about you, first I'll warn them, and if they do it again, I'll jinx them." 

"You'd be my very own heroic protector?" Myrtle says, giggling. "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you." 

"Heh," I say. "Yeah. Although I usually eat at the Slytherin table because a couple of the boys in my dorm are dicks. Shall we?" 

"Well, alright, I suppose," Myrtle says. 

I return to the Great Hall, followed by the ghost girl floating along behind me, and take a seat at the Slytherin table. "Hey, guys," I say. "Let me introduce you to Myrtle. Be nice to her." 

"Hello, Myrtle," Neville says. 

"Myrtle, these are my friends, Neville, Luna, Dean, Hermione, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore, and Blaise," I say, pointing to each one in turn in the order they're sitting. 

"You're not going to make fun of me, are you?" Myrtle asks. 

"Why would we do that?" Theodore asks. 

Myrtle cocks her head and peers at the odd group. "Why are four Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw eating at the Slytherin table?" 

"There are fewer jerks here," Hermione says. 

"And fewer wrackspurts," Luna adds. 

"And they have the best desserts," Dean puts in. 

I can stomach eating up all the breakfast I can stuff into my face now, in between chatting casually with Myrtle. When we're done eating, we head to our usual room to hang out for a bit, again followed by Myrtle, who seems to have relaxed considerably upon realizing that nobody is treating her badly. 

"So, show us these books you found, Stormseeker," Hermione asks. 

"What books?" Draco wonders. 

"I found some books in a secret library hidden in the school," I say, pulling them out from my bag of holding and laying them on the table. 

"Wow," Blaise says. "These must be really _old_." 

"I don't suppose anyone happens to speak Latin here?" I say, smirking. 

"A little," Theodore says, and a couple of the others nod in agreement. None of us really speaks much Latin. 

"What about you, Myrtle?" I ask. 

"I'm afraid not," Myrtle replies. "I always wanted to learn, though." 

"Where did you _find_ this, Stormseeker?" Draco asks. "I didn't know there were any secret libraries in the school." 

"Well, yeah," I say. "If you did, they wouldn't be a secret." I grin at him. 

"So what does all this mean?" Dean wonders. "What do the _titles_ mean, for starters?" 

"Let's see," Theodore says. "I'm guessing that _Grimorium Antiqui_ means 'Old Book' or something like that." 

" _Ars Magicarum_?" Crabbe says. "Does that mean 'Magic Butt'?" 

Several of us giggle. Theodore says, "It's probably something like 'The Art of Magic'. As for _Clavicula Potentiae_... um..." 

"The Potential Collarbone?" suggests Dean. 

"Somehow I doubt that," I say, chuckling. 

We're not getting very far on this today, so we pull out some of our homework to get some of that done. 

After a bit, I decide to go over to Theodore to have a little chat with him. "Let me ask you something, Theodore. Why did you decide to join up with my group in the first place, anyway?" I ask him quietly. "Last year you struck me as a bit of a loner." 

Theodore looks up at me thoughtfully. "Well, I was kind of curious, for starters," he replies. "There was always something a little strange about you that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Now I know why, at least. I've spent a fair bit of time thinking about what I saw on the Pensieve. And I'm glad I did." 

"Oh?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah," Theodore says. "You're not like You-Know-Who, or even Draco. You have a _purpose_ , and underlying principles that you won't waver from no matter what. I think getting behind _you_ was the best decision I ever made, and I don't regret it for a moment. Whatever happens now, I'm in this for the long run." 

I smile at him. "I'm glad to hear that, Theodore." 

He chuckles softly. "Which is kind of funny, considering that I _was_ a loner. I'd told myself that I wouldn't join anyone else's group. But at the time, all I saw were gangs of bullies of various ages, making life miserable for one another. And their leaders all treated their followers like mere minions to be ordered about as they please. Even Dumbledore, so far as I saw." 

"Yeah, I've seen that," I say, nodding in agreement, and thinking on how Draco usually treated Crabbe and Goyle until I came along. 

Theodore goes on, "But... you aren't like that at all. You treat everyone with respect and encourage everyone else to do the same. You're less of a leader, and more of a heart, that draws others in and binds them together as friends, rather than minions. How else could you manage to get Slytherins to accept not-so-pureblooded witches and wizards without question? I don't get it." 

"Heh," I say, grinning crookedly at him. "Nah, I think I'd just consider myself fortunate to have wound up with friends like you." 

Later, I head over to the Owlery off with an order for a couple or books on Latin from Flourish and Blotts catalogue. Then, I head up to my dorm and into the privacy of my bed, and pull out Tom Riddle's diary. 

"I've made a lot of good friends this year at school," I write. "Unexpected, really. Especially considering how much certain segments of the school population still hate me. But I'm glad for it, nonetheless." 

"Who have you added to your circle?" Tom asks. 

"Well, there's Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Dean Thomas, and um... Crabbe and Goyle," I write. "I still don't know their first names, but at least I can remember which is which now." 

"I see. Tell me about Dean Thomas," Tom reads. 

"He's a Gryffindor in my year," I reply. "Either a Mudblood or a half-blood." 

"You're not sure which?" Tom wonders. 

"His father ran off and abandoned him and his mother at a young age, so he has no idea himself," I write. 

"Ah. Understandable," Tom replies. 

* * *

We've settled into a nice routine between Defense Against the Dark Arts and Dueling Club. We're currently covering counter-curses in Defense, and the curses themselves in Dueling Club. Lockhart has, thankfully, realized that it makes him look better to let someone else demonstrate the spells. So, he's been having me demonstrate the curse, and Hermione to cast the counter-curse. I'm shocked to find that we're actually managing to learn something even with Lockhart teaching! 

"You will regret the way you dared to stand against Dragon Army!" Ron declares in one Saturday's Dueling Club. 

"Ronald, you are not nearly awesome enough to be leading anything called Dragon Army," Hermione tells him. 

" _I_ should get Dragon Army, if anyone did," Draco says. "Which I'm not, since I'm with Storm Army." 

The next term promises to be very interesting, as the Dueling Club tournament begins. And I fully intend to win this one. There's no way I'm going to let anyone beat me, even the ones in my own army, if I can possibly help it. I need to keep up my reputation, after all. I'm still afraid of Lucius figuring out that I'm not nearly as experienced and powerful as he seems to think I am. 

So I must push myself to be the best I can be in some areas, even if it means that I have to neglect other areas. It's a wonder I get any sleep at all, between studying Latin, learning curses, and doing a bit of fruitless Patronus practice. 

"Potter!" Ron exclaims. "Get up here and show me what you're made of!" 

"Weasley, that's not the proper method of issuing a challenge to an opposing party," Snape says dryly. "Even if it does get the point across pretty clearly." 

Draco snorts softly and says quietly, "What else would you expect from _that_ sort of wizard? He wouldn't know etiquette and refinement if it hexed him in the face." 

"If you're not going to challenge me properly, I'm not going to follow the rules properly," I retort. "Do you really want to play like that?" 

"Bring it on," Ron says, clenching his fists. "I'll take whatever you can dish out!" 

"Is that so?" I say. I stalk right up to him and punch him in the face. 

"This is the _Dueling_ Club, not the _Brawling_ Club," Snape comments dryly, rolling his eyes. "Five points from Gryffindor for each of you." 

"Can I lose some more points if I kick his ass?" I ask. 

"Did you just try to get into Gryffindor so you could lose us points from the inside, you traitor?" Ron asks, rubbing his jaw. 

"No," I say. "How petty do you think I am? I've got more important things to worry about. Like, at the moment, kicking your ass, little Weasel. _Mimble Wimble_!" 

Ron counters that, and starts throwing spells of his own at me. Clearly, he has actually been paying attention in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I dodge or counter everything he throws at me, and rapidly shoot off spells of my own at him. 

I'm not about to stick to the spells approved for use in the Dueling Club, either, and I warned him as much. That's as far as I care to take honor at the moment. Time to get some payback for getting me killed during that Quidditch game. 

" _Accio_ banner!" I cast, and the Dragon Army banner rips itself off from its post overhead and tries to come toward me. I'm still not very good at this charm, however, and it landed on Ron's shoulder. Eh, good enough, I suppose. " _Incendio!_ " I cast, setting the banner on fire. 

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Ron casts quickly, levitating the burning flag away from him. 

" _Diffindo_ ," I cast on his robes, neatly slicing through them and dropping the lower half of them to the floor. He's apparently wearing Muggle smiley face boxers today. 

"Hey!" Ron cries, grabbing at his robes to try to preserve his dignity. 

" _Expelliarmus_ ," I cast while he's distracted, sending his wand flying. " _Stupefy_." Ron collapses to the floor, stunned. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for dirty tactics and use of unauthorized spells," Snape says. "Been studying ahead, have you?" He goes over to Ron's prone form and casts, " _Rennervate. Reparo._ " Ron regains consciousness and his robes mend themselves. 

"That was... totally..." Ron mutters. "Uncalled for!" 

"I did warn you," I say. "Next time, challenge me properly, or I'm going to do whatever I feel like to you that won't get me detention, expelled, or sent to Azkaban. You're my rival, Ron Weasley. You don't want to actually be my _enemy_. That's another warning, Ron. I suggest you heed it." 

"Five points from Gryffindor for threatening a fellow student," Snape says. 

"What!?" Ron cries, spinning around to look at him. "Snape! You can't just keep taking points away from our house just because Potter keeps being an arse! This isn't fair!" 

"Five points from Gryffindor for whining and yelling at a teacher," Snape says. 

"You should learn that there is no justice in life unless you make it yourself," I say. "Good people suffer and die, and bad people go free and live happy lives. If you don't like that, then do something about it. Just remember that things are rarely as black and white as they might at first appear to be." 

I stride away to rejoin the others in Storm Army, who have been watching this spectacle with rapt interest. 

"Good job, Stormseeker," Draco says. "You really showed him." 

"All I've done is give him a reason to try to better himself," I say. "Keep an eye on him." 

Is this the real reason for the Hogwarts house system? Some people are more driven to improve when they have rivals and competition. Are those the ones who wind up in Gryffindor and Slytherin? And Ravenclaw for the ones who are just naturally studious, and Hufflepuff for those who work better with encouragement and cooperation than outright rivalry. An interesting thought. Whether that was intended or not, that's what it seems to have become. 

* * *

As winter holidays approach, we're making good progress on our extracurricular Latin studies. Surprisingly, Myrtle is a lot of help with this. One Saturday afternoon, I'm studying with Hermione, Myrtle, and Neville in the sleeping dragon room. 

"I didn't think that ghosts were really capable of learning anything or changing much after they've died," I say. 

"Well, you obviously don't know as much about ghosts as you think you do, then," Myrtle says, looking a little offended. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I say. "It's just that all the ghosts I've seen don't seem to do much besides float around and just kind of haunt things. And like you did before I dragged you out of the restroom, moping around thinking about morbid things all the time." 

"I _was_ a Ravenclaw when I was alive," Myrtle says. "Well, I suppose since I died while I was still at school, I guess I'll always be a Ravenclaw, now. I just kind of forgot about that for a while." 

"How did you become a ghost in the first place?" Neville asks. 

"Ooh, well, I was sitting crying in the girls' restroom after Olive Hornby made fun of me," Myrtle says. "And then there were some sounds outside my stall, and I opened up the door and looked out at these two big yellow eyes. And that was it, I just found myself floating away. But I wasn't about to go. I wanted to make Olive Hornby pay for mocking me like she did. So I haunted her for the rest of her days." 

"A teenage girl who hadn't even finished school was able to defy death?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well, it's not all it's cracked up to be," Myrtle says. "After Olive Hornby got killed by some Death Eaters, I didn't have anything else to do, so I went back to the place where I died and haunted the restroom. I suppose I could have found a way to move on by that point, but why? It's not like I really wanted to die in the first place. So I spent a lot of time thinking about death, but I was... you know... kind of afraid to actually face it." 

"Understandable," I say. "I don't care to actually die myself." 

"If you're aiming for immortality, I hope you find a better means of it than becoming a ghost," Myrtle says. "I can't even use my magic anymore." 

"Heh," I say, grinning a little. "Funny story, that." 

"Hmm?" Myrtle says. 

"It's a secret," I say. "Can you keep a secret?" 

"Certainly," Myrtle says. "You're way too nice to me. I wouldn't blab your secrets to anybody." 

"Heh, alright," I say. "You see, I already _am_ immortal, in a way. I wasn't even trying for it or anything. I just seem to have an inborn ability that, whenever I would die, I wake up the previous morning as if nothing happened. Although sometimes I go back all the way to the first day I died, and I'm not entirely sure what causes that yet." 

"Wow," Myrtle says. "That would be great, wouldn't it?" 

"Although, I'm not sure whether it's the fact that knowing I have it makes me reckless at times, or there's some side effect to it that makes me a doom magnet or something," I say. "I die more frequently and in more ridiculous manners than you'd expect by any level of sanity." 

"How was the last time you died?" Hermione asks. 

"Hmm, let's see," I say. "I think it was at the first Quidditch game of the season. The match between Gryffindor and Slytherin." 

"What happened?" Neville says. "You didn't tell us about that one." 

"Ron set my robes on fire," I say. "I fell out of the stands trying to get my burning robes off, and saw Lockhart coming. I ran across the Quidditch pitch, naked. And then got randomly hit by a Bludger." 

Myrtle stares at me incredulously. "Alright, that definitely tops mine." Neville and Hermione don't seem to be sure whether they should laugh or sympathize. 

"Seriously, how can something like that _happen_?" I say. "Nobody has luck _that_ bad. I start to think that the universe is just out to get me or something. Some all-powerful being hates me and likes to see me tormented. I don't know." 

"I think you're just getting jaded and cynical already," Neville says. 

"I just... don't like to bring up my power much," I say. "For one thing, I try to keep it a secret or somebody might find a way to abuse it, to my detriment. And then there's the thing that I feel like I'm bragging or something. Like I'm shoving everyone's noses in the fact that I can't die." 

"Oh, Harry, we don't think that," Hermione says. 

"And believe me, if I knew a way to share this power, I would," I say. "You all are great friends, and I don't ever want to lose you." 

"Even me?" Myrtle asks. 

"Even you, Myrtle," I say, grinning. 

"Hmm," Hermione says thoughtfully. 

"Oh, no," I say. "I know that look. You're trying to think of a way how it might be possible, aren't you." 

"I'm sure there must be a way," Hermione says. "You just haven't found it yet. Have you really experimented much with your power yet?" 

"No, and I haven't really cared to," I say. "It's keeping me alive. I'm afraid I might make one mistake, and then just not come back, ever. I'm sure I'll run into new situations that enlighten me further about it, but I'm not going to intentionally seek them out." 

"I suppose that's a reasonable attitude to take," Hermione says. 

"Anyway, I think we have enough on our plate as it is," I say. "How are we doing on the translation side?" 

"Pretty good, all things considered," Hermione says. "But I've run across several mentions of a book we don't have. _Codex Veritatum_. More than one of these books mentions it in passing, implying that the reader should look there for details. We're still missing a lot. Do you suppose you could sneak in and check if your secret library has the _Codex Veritatum_ in it?" 

"I suppose I could," I say reluctantly. "If not, I suppose I could always bring out some more books." 

"Could you?" Hermione says excitedly. "This has been an amazing project. If these books are accurate, we've lost so much magical knowledge in the last millennium. It would be wonderful to reclaim even a fraction of that." 

"Alright," I say, sighing. "I'll see what I can do." 

After dinner, I sneak down to the Forbidden Lavatory in my invisibility cloak and pull out Tom Riddle's diary. I hate to do this again, knowing that someone could run into the basilisk because of it, but Hermione was so bright and enthusiastic about it. I hate to disappoint her, even though if she knew the risks I'm taking here, she might never approve of it. 

"Tom," I write. "I'm at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Can you get me inside?" 

"Are you prepared to accept the risks and face the consequences?" Tom replies. 

I take a deep breath and steel myself. "Yes," I write. 

"Very well," Tom reads. "Prepare yourself. I am assuming control now." 

I _really_ hate this part. For a moment I feel like _something_ is invading my body, worming its way inside, and then, nothing. 

* * *

The next thing I know, I'm in the Chamber of Secrets again. I head straight for Slytherin's library to look around. 

I'm a little more liberal at poking at things this time. There's a number of books in Latin that I'm starting to be able to puzzle out their titles at least. I pull out a few that look interesting and put them into my bag. And, aha, there it is. The library does, indeed, have a copy of the _Codex Veritatum_ after all. I take that as well. 

This time, I'm bringing out seven books, and I carefully checked all of them beforehand to make sure that there weren't any unfortunate spells that would cause trouble for my friends just from opening them up and looking inside. 

A quick glance at my watch reveals that it's already past curfew. I must have lost track of time looking through all of these fascinating books. I slip on my invisibility cloak again and head back out of the Chamber of Secrets, upstairs and out of the restroom, and from there I head straight back to my dormitory to go to sleep. 

* * *

"Did you find it?" Hermione asks me in a hushed voice despite being under a privacy spell at breakfast the next morning. 

I nod. "Yeah, and I brought some more books along with it, too. I'm not sure what the subject matter is, but they looked interesting enough." 

"Are you sure they're safe?" Neville says. "I've heard about cursed books that could make you keep reading forever, or speak in limericks for the rest of your life." 

"Well, I opened them up and looked at them first, and nothing happened, so I assume so," I say. 

"Stormseeker, that's very reckless," Hermione says. "Maybe you're right about what you were saying yesterday." 

"Heh, maybe," I say. 

Dumbledore stands up at the front of the Great Hall and begins to speak. "Pardon me, students. Now that we're done eating, I have something I must tell you. It is always with a heavy heart that I must acknowledge the death of a student, and so I regret to inform you that..." 

I stop listening. My brain seizes up. My heart races. I start breathing heavily. _Someone is dead, and it's my fault._ Some innocent student, dead because of my greed... 

"... and so, to that end, we will be holding a service to the late Jennifer Stillman on Thursday evening." 

A first year. A first year Mudblood. An eleven year old girl. How can I justify this? 

"Stormseeker," Luna's voice says, cutting into my thoughts. 

"Luna," I whisper in a ragged voice. 

"They're yellow grackles," Luna says firmly. 

"I know," I say. "But they're grackles nonetheless." 

"What sort of nonsense are you two going on about?" Draco says. "Anyway, I say it's good riddance. One less--" 

"Draco," I snap. "If you value our friendship, you will not finish that sentence." 

Draco quickly closes his mouth, looking at me with a touch of alarm and fear. "Sorry," he mutters. 

I grab Draco by the sleeve and drag him off to the nearest empty classroom, and push him inside, a little more roughly than I'd intended. As I go to close the door, Luna steps placidly into the room. It doesn't look like any of the others followed us. " _Muffliato. Colloportus. Locus Timoris,_ " I mutter. 

I turn around to see Draco on his knees. "Forgive me, Stormseeker," Draco murmurs. "I spoke out of line. It won't happen again." 

I growl softly. "Get up," I bark. "I'm not the bloody Dark Lord." 

Draco stands up, still looking at me in fear. My tone apparently didn't help that much. I rub my temples and take a deep breath. I must control myself. Let my anger rage in the storm in my mind, but don't take it out on my friends. Draco watches me quietly as I calm myself. 

"Relax, Draco," I say, more gently. "I just wanted to talk, alright? And... Draco, Luna... please don't tell the others what I'm about to tell you." 

Luna gives a small nod, and Draco says, "Wait, does this have something to do with that Mudblood girl that died?" 

"I killed her," I say in barely more than a whisper. 

"It wasn't like you did it intentionally, Stormseeker," Luna says. 

"Wait, what?" Draco says. "Did I miss something here? What happened?" 

"Remember what I told you guys about finding a secret library in the school?" I say. "I did. I just didn't mention where it was or who it belonged to." 

"Who?" Draco wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's Salazar Slytherin's private library, inside the Chamber of Secrets," I say. 

"Merlin's balls," Draco utters. "You _found_ that?" 

I nod. "And now two people are dead because of it." 

"You sacrificed a Squib and a Mudblood to gain access to Salazar Slytherin's private library?" 

"No! I mean... yes... I mean... kind of... I mean... Fuck." I sigh deeply. 

Luna puts her hand on my shoulder comfortingly, but says nothing. 

"So what exactly happened?" Draco asks. "How did they die?" 

"The Chamber of Secrets is guarded by a basilisk," I explain. "Which apparently got out while I was poking around down there, and killed Mr. Filch, and now Jennifer Stillman." 

"You couldn't have known that would happen, Stormseeker," Luna says. 

"I knew it was a possibility," I say. "It's still my fault." 

"I still don't see what the problem is," Draco says. 

"The problem is that I didn't _intend_ to kill them," I say. "I mean, if I had, I'd have told the basilisk to start with Lockhart..." I smirk. "I would have been fine with killing Filch if I had known and intended him to die. Jennifer... was an innocent, however. I should have known better. I shouldn't have gone down the second time, after Filch died the first time. I should have taken that as a warning." 

"You can't go back and save her?" Luna says. 

I shake my head. "She died last night, before I went to bed. I just didn't realize it. If I'd realized it..." 

"Would you have tried to do something about it then, if you had known?" Luna asks. 

I sigh and sink down in a chair, and put my face in my hands. "No," I say. "Merlin forgive me, but I would not. I've caused too much trouble trying to go back to change things intentionally. I've made things worse one too many times. I tried to save Jennifer before... same thing, last lifetime... I wound up losing you instead, Luna. And then when I went back to try to save _you_ , half the teachers in Hogwarts died!" 

"So, if you would have let her die regardless, what difference does it make if you knew about it beforehand or not?" Draco says. 

"What's done is done," I say. "I must accept the consequences of my actions. I have innocent blood on my hands now, all for the sake of greed, ambition, and lust for power." I snort softly. "I should have been in Slytherin." 

Draco asks, "What did you bring back?" 

"I brought out seven books from Slytherin's library," I say. "I just hope nobody else makes the connection between the deaths and me going to retrieve them." I pull out one of them to show him, the one Hermione was looking for, the _Codex Veritatum_. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Draco says, eyes widening. "The _Codex Veritatum_! Nobody has seen that book in centuries. It's thought to be nothing more than a myth today, or some lost piece of lore that will never be found again, and you _found_ it?" 

"You've heard of it before?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Of course I've heard of the Book of Truths," Draco says, looking upon the object in my hands with awe. "This thing is legendary, at least in dark families. May I take a look?" 

"Sure, alright," I say, handing it to him. 

Draco takes it and opens it up, and carefully flips through it. "This is it," he breathes. "This is the real thing. I can't believe you _found_ this!" He passes it back to me. "Take care with it. This book is priceless." 

"Perhaps the question should be," Luna murmurs distantly. "Would you have sought out this book, if you had known exactly what the price would be beforehand?" 

"No!" I reply quickly. "No one's life is worth that." 

"Sacrifice one Mudblood to gain access to books like _that_?" Draco says. "I'd do it in a heartbeat." 

"Are you absolutely certain of that, Stormseeker?" Luna asks. "Is that what you really believe, and not just your knee-jerk response?" 

I think on it carefully for several minutes before nodding again. "Yes," I say. "I would find another way. I won't sacrifice anyone else just to gain power for myself, not even someone that I barely know." 

Luna gives a small nod, and says, "Then that is why you are in Gryffindor, Stormseeker."


	46. Keeping Secrets

Dumbledore calls me to his office that afternoon, probably to speak with me about Jennifer Stillman's untimely death. 

"Lexen," Dumbledore says. "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and now two people are dead, one of them an eleven year old girl. Please tell me you know _something_ about this. Did nothing like this happen in the future you came from?" 

I sigh softly and take a seat. "I'm sorry that I could not say more in front of Professor McGonagall." 

"Of course, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "I figured that you might be involved in some way and made certain to cover for you. But please tell me what is going on. Argus' death was unfortunate, but at his age it could be explained away without a second glance. But now I have a student dead, and I will need to deal with her parents because of this." 

I say quietly, "The creature in the Chamber of Secrets is a basilisk." 

"A basilisk?" Dumbledore says, frowning a little. "That would explain how they died without a mark on them. For a bit there, I had feared that the Heir of Slytherin had slain them with the Killing Curse. But a basilisk loose in the school is hardly an improvement." 

"It shouldn't happen again," I say. "The situation is under control." 

"Under control?" Dumbledore says with a touch of alarm. "Lexen, a girl is dead!" 

"I'm sorry," I say, voice trembling. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes. "It was my fault. I made a mistake. I can't... I can't save her, I can't bring her back, not now. There's nothing I can do. But if there's any reparations I can make, I will make them." 

Dumbledore sighs and puts his forehead in his hand. "Lexen, I can't ask that of you," he says. "I'm certain that you are doing the best job you can in keeping everyone safe and the future on course, even if you can't tell me the details." He shakes his head. "A young boy should not have to shoulder this burden alone." 

"That's what my friends are for," I say quietly. "They don't know everything, either... but they keep me sane. They're the rock I stand on, and I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to them." 

Dumbledore gives a nod. "Good," he says. "If anything ever slips, do remember that you can always come to me, as well." He sighs. "Now, I must arrange to have a Muggle family Obliviated to forget that their daughter ever existed, just because it would be inconvenient to have more Muggles than necessary knowing about magic." 

"I'm sorry," I murmur again. 

"Go on, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "You've done quite enough here today." 

* * *

I can't let myself break down in front of anyone else, so I focus on my Occlumency lessons and put on a mask of relative calm. Something appropriately solemn for the circumstances, but not potentially incriminating. 

I'm not sure whether the fact that we're about to leave Hogwarts for Christmas holidays is really a relief or not. Sure, I'll be dealing with fewer people, but Lucius Malfoy will be one of the few people that I'll have to deal with. And that's going to be less than relaxing. 

"Draco," I ask on the train back, with just him, me, Crabbe, and Goyle in the compartment. "Does the Malfoy family have a Pensieve?" 

"Certainly," Draco says. "Didn't you use it before? Anyway, I'm sure my father wouldn't mind you using it for a bit if you wanted to share more memories." 

"Not precisely," I say. "More like, I want to analyze some of them myself. I've noticed that details are a lot clearer in the Pensieve, and you can often see stuff that you would have had no way of noticing at the time." 

Draco nods. "Can I help?" 

"Alright, I suppose," I say. "But only you." 

"Of course," Draco says with a smirk. 

The evening we arrive at Malfoy Manor, I ask Lucius, "Pardon me, Lucius. May I have the use of your Pensieve for the duration of the holiday?" 

"Of course, Harry," Lucius says. "My resources are at your disposal." 

"Thank you," I say. 

I leave my first session with the Pensieve until after breakfast the next morning, however. I settle myself into the room where the Pensieve is located, and put in my three memories of the Chamber of Secrets. Draco is off busy doing something else, which is just as well since I didn't really want to share this all that much, so I just get started myself. 

I watch through the scene. The memory Lexen is standing in the restroom, pulls out the diary, and writes in it. Then my surroundings blur for a moment, and when they fade into view again, I'm standing inside the Chamber of Secrets. I remain standing where I am thoughtfully as Lexen searches around for Slytherin's library. 

I suppose it would have been too much to hope for to have memories that I lack show up in the Pensieve. I really don't like the fact that Tom Riddle had to control me like that to get inside, and worse that I don't remember what happened while I was under his control. I would be a lot more comfortable with it had it been like the Imperius Curse. Relatively speaking, anyway. Admittedly, the Imperius Curse was an extremely creepy experience, but at least I knew what was happening while under it, even if my motivations were skewed. 

Draco appears in the memory beside me. "Sorry I'm late," he says, peering about. "Whoa. Is this the Chamber of Secrets?" 

I give a nod. "That it is." 

"This place is amazing!" Draco says, walking the length of the chamber. "And look! This is a statue of Salazar Slytherin himself, isn't it?" He gazes up at the oversized statue reverantly. 

"Yeah," I say in agreement. That was where the basilisk came out of during the first time I was in here. I'm a little wary about that, but surely we can't be hurt by a mere memory. 

"You know, when I was younger, I dreamed about finding this place," Draco says. "I liked to imagine myself as actually being Slytherin's Heir, and jealously guarding his secrets, using them to gain power and fame." 

I chuckle softly. "You are such a Slytherin," I say with a small grin. 

"Hey, don't act like you'd do any differently," Draco says. "You wouldn't have shared those books with us if you hadn't needed help with translating them, would you?" 

I think about that for a few moments. "No," I reply. "I might have shared some spells or techniques if I thought they would be useful for you guys to know, though." 

"Heh, thought so," Draco says. "You're just as Slytherin as me. You just also seem to have this weird thing about saving people and feeling guilty if anyone gets hurt around you." 

"Don't forget as studious as a Ravenclaw, and as patient, hard-working, and loyal as a Hufflepuff," I add lightly. 

"Yeah, you're a very strange person," Draco says, snickering. "So what else is down here? Where's that library you mentioned? Can we go and take a look at that?" 

"Oh, yeah," I say. "I think the memory of me wandered off somewhere to find it." 

I head back toward the entrance to Slytherin's private library, only to spot the memory of me coming out of it and making his way for the doors. Strange, I thought I'd spent more time down here. 

"It's in here," I say, leading Draco into the room that the memory of me recently vacated, and wondering to myself... At what point did the basilisk slither its way out of here to kill Mr. Filch? 

"Merlin," Draco breathes. "Look at all of these books, and they're so _old_." 

"This memory's almost over, though," I say. "The next one's coming up." 

In a moment, the two of us are back in the restroom, watching the other me pulling out Tom Riddle's diary. 

"What is that?" Draco wonders, looking over at it. 

"That's how I got into the Chamber of Secrets," I say. The memory blurs, and in a blink, we're down in the Chamber again. 

"What happened?" Draco asks as the memory Lexen starts heading for the library. 

"I'm not a Parselmouth, so I couldn't get in myself," I say. "So I had to let it control me briefly so I could get inside." 

"You _let_ it control you?" Draco says. "That's awfully reckless, but I suppose it did work, after all. What _is_ that book, anyway?" 

I pull out the diary from my bag of holding and show it to him. "Tom Riddle's diary," I say. "It replies when you write in it." 

"Where did you ever find something like that?" Draco wonders. 

"I learned about it in the future," I say, tucking it away again quickly. "But I actually found it in your family's secret storage room, and 'borrowed' it over the summer." 

"Oh..." Draco says. "I had no idea that we had anything like that laying around. I'm sure if my father realized we had something that could open the Chamber of Secrets, it wouldn't have just been sitting around collecting dust in storage somewhere." 

The memory Lexen comes out of the library soon enough and leaves the Chamber. "Huh," I murmur. I really thought I must have been down here longer than that. "Draco, would the Pensieve show what was happening in the Chamber proper even while I was in the library?" 

"I don't know," Draco says. "I'm not really sure exactly how these things work." 

"I wasn't even in there very long," I mutter thoughtfully. " _When_ did the basilisk even have a chance to come out and attack a girl who wasn't even particularly close to the Forbidden Restroom?" 

Soon enough, the memory ends, and the third one starts up. We're back in the restroom again, but this time the memory version of me is not alone. Dumbledore, Lupin, Moody, and Tonks are present as well. 

"Who are these people?" Draco wonders. 

"Remus Lupin, an Auror called Mad-Eye Moody, and his protege, Nymphadora Tonks," I explain. 

"Oh, yeah, I've heard of Moody," Draco says. "And this Tonks girl? I think she's my cousin. I heard something about my aunt Andromeda running off and marrying a Mudblood." He makes a face at that. 

Lexen pulls out Salazar Slytherin's painting, which hisses in Parseltongue, opening the way inside. We follow after the group as they descend into the Chamber. 

"What was that?" Draco wonders. "You didn't use the diary this time. Who was the Parselmouth?" 

"Salazar Slytherin's portrait," I explain. "I convinced him to help." 

"I have no idea how you managed to convince Slytherin's own portrait to let you into the Chamber of Secrets," Draco says, looking impressed. 

"I told him there was an outsider who had managed to gain access to the Chamber somehow in an attempt to steal his secrets," I explain. Which was the truth, or at least, so I thought it was. 

The group arrives inside the Chamber of Secrets, and Slytherin's portrait starts screaming about having been betrayed, and then hisses. The statue at the far end of the room opens up, and the basilisk slithers out. Then the memory blurs, and then in the blink of an eye, the people in the memory are all laying on the floor, dead or just regaining consciousness. 

"What in Merlin's name happened?" Draco breathes. 

"I have no idea," I say. "I thought Remus or Moody must have stunned me. But neither was even looking at me when I passed out." 

"Hey, there's that diary again," Draco says. "You had it then, too? Why didn't you just use _that_ to get inside?" 

"For starters, I didn't want anyone else to know I even had it," I say, frowning a little. 

Lexen goes over to Slytherin's painting. Dumbledore is getting up. Slytherin hisses, and the basilisk returns. Dumbledore engages the basilisk. And then, in the blink of an eye, the scene shifts. We're now in the dormitory in Torn Elkandu, and a younger Lexen is just waking up in bed. 

"What just happened there?" Draco says. 

"Er, I died," I say. "I accidentally made eye contact with the basilisk." I hadn't meant the memory to go this far. I'd just intended to cover the parts involving the Chamber of Secrets itself. 

"Where are we?" Draco wonders, and peers at the young Lexen as he gets up and looks around for his wand. "Wait, you look younger here. And you don't have a scar on your forehead." His eyes widen as it dawns on him. "You went back to the start!" 

The memory ends, and the Pensieve ejects us again. I sigh, and nod at Draco. "Yeah," I say. "That's when I started over." 

"But wait," Draco says. "You didn't look much older than you do now when you went down to the Chamber in that last memory." 

"It was toward the end of what would have been second year if Hogwarts hadn't been shut down," I say quietly. 

Draco's eyes widen. "So you're really only two years older than me!" 

"One year, actually," I say, sheepishly looking at the floor. "I was ten years old when I first came to this universe. I just have two extra years of school." 

"I don't believe it," Draco says. "My father and everyone were all thinking that you were from some distant future where you were a powerful _adult_ wizard." 

"Draco," I say. "Please promise me you won't tell your father about this. I don't want Lucius to find out." 

"Find out about what?" says Lucius, striding into the Pensieve room. 

My blood runs cold. I glance to him. I turn to give a pleading gaze toward Draco. A small grin slowly spreads across Draco's face. 

"Harry stole something from our secret storage room," Draco says, looking smug. 

"Oh?" Lucius says, raising an eyebrow and looking at me. "Show me." 

I pull Tom Riddle's diary out of my bag of holding and pass it over to Lucius reluctantly. "This, sir," I say quietly. 

Lucius frowns, taking it and looking at it. "How did you know about this?" Lucius says. "No, never mind, you probably encountered it in the future. Why did you take it?" 

"I used it to get into the Chamber of Secrets," I admit. 

"You found a way into the Chamber of Secrets?" Lucius says, eyes widening in surprise. 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I brought out several books that were in Salazar Slytherin's private library. Like this one." I bring out the _Codex Veritatum_. 

"The Book of Truths?" Lucius says. "It really does still exist?" 

"Indeed," I say. "We've been diligently studying Latin for the last few months. But yes, that's why I asked for your Pensieve. I wanted to review my memories of the Chamber of Secrets without having to go down there again." 

Lucius hands the diary back to me. "You might have asked me first, but I can see why you did not," Lucius says. "The Dark Lord gave that to me for safekeeping many years ago. I would have been reluctant to part with it, and still am. I would, however, like to be able to look through some of the material you have brought out of the Chamber of Secrets." 

"Of course," I say, offering him the _Codex Veritatum_. "I'd like it back before we return to school, though. We're still working on translating it." 

"Certainly," Lucius says, taking the book with a greedy grin. "Carry on." He heads out of the room again. 

Once the door closes behind him, I let out the breath that I've been holding as a heavy sigh. "Draco, I could kiss you," I say. 

"Please don't," Draco says, smirking. 

"I owe you," I say quietly. "Big time. Anything you want, just ask, and I'll walk over dead bodies to see it done." 

Draco grins broadly and says, "I'll hold you to that, Stormseeker." 

I put Tom Riddle's diary back into my bag of holding, and do some quick Occlumency exercises to calm my racing heart and panicking mind. For a few moments there, I felt like a deer caught staring at a hungry wolf. 

It occurs to me that this Draco is different from the one in my last life. That one did not hesitate to betray me after giving his word that he would keep a secret for me, even after accepting a bribe for it. This one will deceive even his own father for my sake. Or perhaps it's not so much that they're different that it is that our relationship is very different. My mistake before, then, was in trusting too much in someone whose trust I had not earned. 

"Well. Then." I turn back toward the Pensieve. "Shall we get back to what we were doing?" 

"Yeah," Draco says. "Let's." 

We sink back into the Pensieve to replay my memories of the Chamber of Secrets. We're back in the restroom as the memory Lexen is coming in. After a few moments, the scene blurs, and when it sharpens again, we're in the Chamber of Secrets. 

"Hmm," I say. "Out of curiosity..." I head out of the Chamber and up the stairs. 

"Hmm?" Draco says, following along after me. 

We step out of the restroom and into the corridor outside. Mr. Filch's body is lying on the floor beneath the words written on the wall. 

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened," Draco reads. "Enemies of the Heir, beware? No wonder the teachers sealed off this corridor." 

"There is no way that I could have seen this already," I say. "So is it just showing this because that's how I remember it next, or is it actually showing information that I could not have possibly known at the time? Merlin, if it's the latter, I could totally abuse Pensieves..." 

"Interesting," Draco says thoughtfully. 

With the next memory, Draco peers closely at the memory Lexen, and looks at the watch on my hand, and does so again when we blink down to the Chamber. 

"According to your watch, you were being controlled by that diary for over two hours," Draco says. 

"Shit," I mutter. "I didn't even think to check that." 

"Yeah, better make a mental note of that," Draco says. "If I ever let myself be controlled by a mysterious dark artifact, check the time first. Or how about just, don't let myself be controlled by a mysterious dark artifact." 

"Hey, it was to get into the Chamber of Secrets," I say. "He told me that there wasn't any other way, and said you couldn't learn Parseltongue if you weren't born with it. Although I seem to recall hearing a suggestion otherwise at one point..." 

"I imagine that it might be hard," Draco says. "But I've heard of people learning other magical languages. Mermish, and such." 

Back to the memory of opening the Chamber with Slytherin's portrait. I pay closer attention to the distinctive hissing sound the painting makes when it opens the sink, and then the door inside. It's clearly the same word. And then the sequence of hisses used to call the basilisk is something longer and more complex. Then the world blurs for a moment, and everyone is laying on the ground. 

"Draco," I say thoughtfully. "Is it just me, or is that... pretty much exactly like when the diary was controlling me?" 

"Yeah..." Draco says. 

"But I certainly didn't let him do that then!" I protest. 

"There wasn't anyone else in the Chamber," Draco says. "If he controlled you, he could have caught the others by surprise and completely messed up their plans. They wouldn't have been expecting you to attack them." 

I frown deeply and look around at the scene. "Probably hit the rooster first to make sure the basilisk was safe. Moody must have either gotten hit with the Killing Curse, or the basilisk's gaze." 

"His eyes were still protected," Draco points out. "It was probably the Killing Curse." 

"And then the basilisk itself took out Remus, Tonks, and Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was saved by his phoenix..." I go on. My voice is trembling a little, and then I realize, so are my hands. Thankfully, the scene vanishes a moment later, to be briefly replaced by the Torn Elkandu dormitory before we're ejected from the Pensieve again. 

"Are you alright, Harry?" Draco asks. 

I shake my head. "No, I'm not," I say. I pull out Tom Riddle's diary out of my pocket and look at it as though it's a venomous snake that could bite at any moment. "I've just learned that _this thing_ forced me to use the Killing Curse on someone against my will!" My blood burns in my veins. "What am I supposed to think?" 

"So, get rid of it," Draco suggests. "Put it back in the secret storage room and never touch it again. We'll find another way into the Chamber. And even if we can't, we've gotten a lot out of it already." 

"I want to destroy it," I say quietly. "He lied to me, used me, made me kill for him..." I set the diary down on a table and whip out my wand, and cast, " _Incendio!_ " The fire fails to catch, however. 

"I don't think it'll be that easy," Draco says. "Magical artifacts like that usually have some sort of protection upon them. If the Dark Lord thought it was important enough to give it to my father for safekeeping, it might be very, very hard to destroy." 

I sigh and nod, grab the diary and put it away again. "I'll figure out a way later," I say. "For now, let's see if we can figure out the Parseltongue to get inside." 

I adjust the memories inside of the Pensieve to just play Slytherin's portrait opening the Chamber of Secrets on repeat. We hop back in and listen to it run a few times, and try to mimic the sound ourselves. 

"Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell if we've got it right or not without actually going back to test it," I say. 

"We can check it out when we get back from holiday," Draco says. 

"Yeah," I say. 

* * *

Christmas at Malfoy Manor is a cheerful affair this year. With the chance to read the _Codex Veritatum_ , Lucius has more than forgiven my unasked borrowing of Tom Riddle's diary and seems to be in high spirits for the holidays. 

This year's presents are fun, but nothing unusual or noteworthy. Candy and books and toys. I would feel bad if the Malfoys lavished presents upon me after all that I've deceived them, but they can certainly afford to do so, regardless. 

The New Year's Eve party this year is being held at the Greengrass residence. "Considering what happened last year," Lucius tells me. "Do you really want to come?" 

I nod. "If anyone is stupid enough to attempt to murder me after last year's debacle, I won't feel bad about killing them," I comment. 

"Very well," Lucius says, chuckling darkly. 

The Greengrass estate isn't quite as large or lavish as Malfoy Manor, but it still makes the Weasleys' place look like a barn. Then again, a nice little house in town would make the Burrow look like a barn. The same sort of crowd comes this year, plus or minus a few families. Would the Weasleys ever be invited to a party like this? Highly doubtful. Even though the Weasleys are also purebloods, these families think themselves better than them. Is it just because of their money, or because they believe the Weasleys to be blood traitors? 

There's a different tone to the crowd this year, though, at least around me. They definitely haven't forgotten the events of last year. They flinch a little whenever I come near, and treat me with deliberate deference tempered with a thinly disguised feeling of absolute terror. Do they really think of me as the next Dark Lord? 

"My son speaks highly of you," says Theodore Nott's father. "But why did you ever wind up in Gryffindor?" 

"Because I'm a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation," I give my standard reply. 

Nott Sr. chuckles a bit. "And I hear that you've started building your own private army this year, as well. And you've given yourself a title. Stormseeker, was it?" 

"Yes," I say. "That's right." 

"So where are you intending to go with this, I wonder?" Nott says. "Will it be the Death Eaters all over again?" 

"No," I reply. "Not really. It seems to me like wantonly killing Muggles is pretty counterproductive. It would be hard to make a serious dent in the Muggle population anytime soon, but if one really wants to have some fun and make a sport out of killing them, it seems to me like a little more discretion is required in this day and age. Otherwise, that'll just make people hate you." 

"True," Nott agrees. 

"No need to make enemies of the rest of the wizarding population right off the bat," I say. "Although I suppose there's a point to the masks thing. Everyone knows who you are, but nobody _really_ knows who you are? I can see the appeal to that, but on the flip side, you shouldn't have to hide what you're doing." 

"That's true," Nott murmurs. "So, you don't like Muggles. What do you think of the Mudbloods? I hear you have a couple of them in your inner circle, and I have to wonder about that." 

"They're still wizards," I say, shrugging. "You've spent generations casting Squibs out of pureblood families. And then some generations later, Mudbloods pop up. I can't believe nobody's made the connection. It seems to me to be patently obvious. Magic doesn't come from nowhere. True Muggles can't produce wizards. If you go back far enough, I'd imagine you'd find connections to old purebloods families in every one of those Mudbloods, through a long line of Squibs." 

"Hmm, I never thought of it that way, but there may be a point to that," Nott says. 

It occurs to me that he may just be agreeing to anything I say. "I say, we need to keep ourselves completely separate from the Muggles. Keep our Squibs, bring in the Mudbloods, and no more of this mixing." 

"You may be right about that," Nott says. 

"There's no excuse for any Muggle to know about magic. If there were a way to track down every Squib in the world, I'd say we should do it. Every Squib out there that thinks it's a Muggle is a danger to our secrets. Squibs are still magical. And they can detect magic that Muggles cannot. That's a risk." 

"Indeed it is," Nott agrees. "One that never occurred to me." 

"And another thing," I say. "What's with all the pureblood families that only have one child? Do you _want_ the Mudbloods and blood traitors to outbreed you? It's no wonder the old families are slowly dying off. Look at the Weasleys. Blood traitors all, and yet _they_ have increased the number of purebloods in the next generation rather than letting it decrease even further." 

"Hmm, this is true," Nott says. 

"Pureblood families need to have more babies!" I exclaim, earning some looks from those within earshot. "At least three children per couple, minimum!" 

"Oh yes, you're absolutely right," murmur some others nearby. 

"Also, wrackspurts should be outlawed," I go on to say. "There's no excuse for subjecting the children to this sort of thing." 

"Of course, of course," comes the agreement, although I can see the puzzlement on their faces. That settles it. They're definitely just agreeing with everything I'm saying. 

Lucius approaches me later and says, "Are you enjoying the party, Stormseeker?" 

"I think they don't know what to make of me," I comment. 

"You did make quite the impression last year," Lucius replies. "And those of us who are parents have been hearing many interesting things about what's been going on at Hogwarts of late." 

And it's all based on a lie. A secret lie. That only Lucius and Narcissa know. What have they told the others about me? What do these other people think I am? I have no idea. Do they really think that I'm the next Dark Lord? I'm terrified about what might happen if something should slip somewhere along the way. I don't have the skill or experience to back up the reputation I'm getting. This could get very bad, very fast. 

* * *

Holiday break ends without further incident. As Draco and I are preparing to return to Hogwarts for the start of the next term, Lucius approaches me to speak with me. 

"I would like to continue to study the _Codex Veritatum_ for a while longer," Lucius says. "You have other books you are working on, don't you?" 

"Yeah," I say reluctantly. I'd like it back, but I can't really argue with him about it. Best to just keep him happy. "Go ahead and keep it for now." 

"Thank you," Lucius says. "You are most generous. The Book of Truths has been greatly enlightening." 

I'd really like a chance to read it myself, sometime. But my grasp of Latin just isn't good enough yet. I've been making good progress on it, but I realize that attempting to translate ancient books of arcane lore may not be the best way to learn a language. Maybe I should look through Flourish and Blotts' catalogue some more and see if they have a Latin equivalent for 'See Popo Run'. 

When the time comes to board the Hogwarts Express, I take a seat with Draco, Luna, Neville, and Hermione. Luna seems unusually cheerful at the moment, and I have to wonder why. 

"Stormseeker!" she says brightly as I sit down next to her. "Have you heard the news?" 

"Which news?" I wonder. 

Luna passes me a copy of the latest issue of _The Quibbler_. Hmm, I diligently at least skim over each issue of the _Daily Prophet_ , but maybe I should read this one as well. The primary headline reads, "Ministry attempts to exterminate wrackspurts". 

"I don't think they're going to succeed," I say dryly. 

"Probably not," Luna says. "They don't even realize how big an infestation they have on their hands. But they've hired on my father as a special consultant for it." 

"Congratulations," I say, chuckling. "I have to wonder why people were listening to random comments I was making at a New Year's Eve party." 

Draco snorts softly, and says, "At least you weren't drunk." 

"But I don't drink," I say. "Besides, I'm twelve." 

"So?" Draco says. "It would not surprise me at all if you turned into a sodden drunkard before you turn seventeen." 

"Draco, that's a horrible thought," Hermione admonishes him. 

"I mean it," Draco says. "I don't know if I'd be able to see what he's seen, go through what he's gone through, and be able to stay sane." 

"Well, whatever else happens, we're here for you, mate," Neville assures me. 

"Thanks," I murmur. But I can never shake the thought that they might _not_ always be here for me. I really don't want to lose them.


	47. Poison

The day after we return to Hogwarts following winter holidays, I sneak out after curfew under my invisibility cloak. I make my way down to the dungeons and wait outside of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. 

"Stormseeker, are you there?" Draco whispers. 

"I'm here," I say quietly. "Here, get under here." I slip the invisibility cloak over him. 

"This is a little uncomfortable with both of us under here," Draco complains. 

"Would you rather we get caught?" I ask. 

"Bah, Filch is dead," Draco says. "Who else would be crazy enough to stay up all night just in case some student is out of bed?" 

"I'm paranoid," I say. "But if you really want, you can walk around visible and I'll stay under the cloak." 

"Fine," Draco says, pulling out from under the invisibility cloak. "Are you sure we'll even be able to get past the spells blocking the corridor?" 

"They never stopped me," I say. 

"They might have made an exception for you," Draco says. 

"Well, one way to find out," I say. "Let's go." 

"I'd say 'lead the way', but seeing as I can't see you, I'll just head there myself," Draco says. "Try not to bump into me or get in my way." 

I snicker softly, and the two of us head for the Forbidden Restroom. Sure enough, whatever spells were used to keep anyone from wandering into this part of the school don't keep out either of us now. The restroom is flooded at the moment as we step inside. 

"Myrtle?" I say, pulling off the invisibility cloak. "Are you in here?" 

"Harry!" Myrtle says, popping gleefully out of the toilet. "It's been so awfully boring and lonely here in Hogwarts without any of you around." 

"Do you have to remain in Hogwarts?" I ask. 

Myrtle looks a little dejected. "Well, no... I'm not bound to the place of my death or anything. But I haven't left in a long time and I've kind of forgotten how. Ever since Olive Hornby died. And I wasn't sure if I'd be welcome wherever you were, anyway..." 

"So long as you don't start flooding the place, you're welcome at Malfoy Manor," Draco says dryly. 

"Really?" Myrtle says, practically squealing in glee. 

"Alright, let's see if we can get this open," I say. I try hissing out the Parseltongue word to open the way into the Chamber of Secrets. Nothing happens. 

"Let me try," Draco says, and tries to repeat it himself. 

Myrtle watches us curiously as we take turns hissing at the sink. After several tries, we finally get the pronunciation correct, and the sink moves aside and the wall opens up to allow us passage. 

"We did it!" Draco says. 

The two of us slide down into the bowels of the castle, followed momentarily by Myrtle. We approach the large door to the Chamber of Secrets, and after a few more tries, get that one open as well. With the way open, we step inside and look around. 

"Wow," Myrtle says. "All these years I've been haunting that toilet, and I never even realized all of this was down here." 

"I can't believe I'm actually _in_ the Chamber of Secrets," Draco says. "But aren't you afraid the basilisk might come out and attack us?" 

I shake my head. "I wish it _would_." 

"Are you _insane_?" Draco says, looking at me incredulously. 

"If it did, then I could kill it," I say. 

"You seriously think you could kill a thousand year old basilisk?" Draco says. 

I chuckle softly. " _Lumos_ ," I say, and I put my glowing wand tip to the face of my rooster watch, which crows promptly. 

Draco looks at me in puzzlement for a moment. "Wait, you said something about a rooster before..." 

I nod. "The crow of a rooster is instantly fatal to the basilisk," I explain. 

Draco's eyes widen, and he laughs. "You planned this all out from the start," he says. "Cunning as a Slytherin." 

"Clever as a Ravenclaw," Myrtle adds, smirking. 

"Obviously I wasn't cunning or clever _enough_ ," I say, sighing. 

"Stormseeker, where's that library?" Draco asks. 

I lead the way over to Slytherin's private library. "Just, be careful, will you?" I say. "I don't want to have to explain to your father how you got blasted by a cursed book or something." 

"Right, right," Draco says. "I'll just look, alright? Merlin, this place is amazing." 

"You've already seen it in my memories," I remind him. 

"Yeah, but to actually _be_ down here myself..." Draco says. "Memories just aren't the same." 

I look around thoughtfully. "Hmm," I say. "Now that we can get in here whenever we want, this might be a nice, private place to come and study, or hide out if need be, and whatnot." 

"What about Storm Army?" Draco asks. "Do you think we should tell them about it?" 

I shake my head. "Absolutely not," I say. "Let's make this _our_ little secret." 

Draco grins a bit, and nods. "Alright." 

I return to the main room and take Tom Riddle's diary out of my bag, and place it on the floor. "Hmm, let's see," I say. "What might be able to destroy this?" 

"I doubt there's any light magic that would be capable of it," Draco says. "Try curses." 

I pull out my wand and start throwing every curse I know at the book, even the most destructive ones that I've never directed at an actual human being before. None of them even seem to have the slightest bit of effect upon the diary, however. Draco joins in as well, but doesn't have any more success than me. Myrtle watches us intently, but stays quiet. 

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cast for the ninth time, but the Lightning Curse still fails to make a mark upon the book. 

"I don't think this is working, Stormseeker," Draco says, shaking his head. 

I sigh, bend over to pick up the diary, and peer at it some more. "Alright, spells are out for the moment, then," I say. "That pretty much exhausts our repertoire. Do you know of anything else that's really destructive? Any spells we don't know, or substances, or something?" 

"Did you try the Blasting Curse?" Myrtle suggests. 

"No, but I doubt it would work, either," Draco says. "Nothing I can think of offhand that would be at all practical." 

"Then suggest some impractical things," I say. 

"Fiendfyre," Draco says. "Dragon's fire. Basilisk venom. If it's somehow actually alive, the Killing Curse or a Dementor's Kiss might work..." 

"Or maybe some magical item," Myrtle says. "Some legendary swords are said to be able to cut through anything. Or a potion! Like dissolving it in strong acid." 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. And then, thinking about how to destroy the diary for good, I suddenly feel a crawling sensation. My vision blurs... 

* * *

I blink. I'm laying on the floor in the Chamber of Secrets. I raise my head. Draco is lying in front of me, badly wounded, impaled with many needles. That accursed diary is on the ground several feet away from me. 

"Are you yourself again, Harry?" Myrtle says. 

"Shit," I mutter. "Yeah." I grab my wand and rush over to Draco's side. "Myrtle, go get Snape! Hurry!" 

"Right!" Myrtle says, zipping up into the ceiling. 

" _Episkey_ ," I murmur over Draco, to little effect, however. 

It won't do if Draco dies before Snape manages to get down here to help him. I'll never forgive myself if that happens. This was all my own damned fault. What in the Abyss did Tom _cast_? I pull out one of the needles impaling Draco's body and look at the glistening tip. Poison? Ah, shit. I reach into my bag of holding and pull out a bezoar, and shove it into his mouth. Immediately he starts looking a little less pale. 

"Do you really think you can save him?" says a voice. I jerk up and look around, and see, standing on top of the diary, the translucent form of a handsome young man. For all that he seems to be little more than a ghost, there's color in him, and he's holding Draco's wand. 

"Tom?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "How?" 

"You have given me quite a bit of your energy over these past months," Tom says. "Enough that I am capable of manifesting on my own now. _Expelliarmus!_ " 

My wand goes flying out of my hand before I can react. "Damn it," I mutter. "Tom, why did you do this?" 

"The two of you were plotting to destroy me," Tom says. "I spent all those months, listening to you patiently, helping you, I even let you into the Chamber of Secrets! And you would seek to destroy me?" 

"You used me!" I spit. "You lied to me! You forced me to unleash the basilisk upon innocent students against my will!" 

"I held to my promise," Tom says. "Your friends were not harmed." 

"You said you'd only control me for as long as necessary," I say. "You had a hold of me for hours!" 

"As long as necessary to do what I was going to do," Tom says. "Tell me, 'Stormseeker', if you had known exactly the price that I would ask of you to do this, would you have still done it?" 

"That depends," I say. "To kill Lockhart? Yes. Filch? Maybe. Random children? No. I'd be less upset about this all if you had at least killed Lockhart at some point, for fuck's sake!" 

Tom laughs softly. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to murder him yourself," Tom says. "Now, do you want to walk out of here alive? Draco's life for your own. Sacrifice him for me, let me take his power for my own, and I will let you walk away free." 

"Not a chance in the Abyss," I spit. "I won't let anyone else die for me." 

"He isn't going to make it anyway," Tom says. "He's getting worse by the minute. I know what I cast on him, and I can still save him, but for that... I want _your_ life, instead, then. A life for a life. You care about your friend more than yourself, don't you?" 

"What?" I say, narrowing my eyes at him. 

"Sacrifice your life to me, bleed out your very life blood into these pages, and I will save Draco," Tom says. "It's not much of a price, is it? After all, you won't really stay dead, from your perspective. But that hardly matters to me. From mine, I'll be able to live again. It doesn't matter what happens to you afterward. But Draco will live." 

"No," I retort. "You will not take even a single one of my lives, deceiver!" 

"Oh?" Tom says. "You would allow Draco to die merely on principle? Tsk, foolish Gryffindors. Then you both shall die." 

Tom hisses out several words in Parseltongue, and the statue at the far end begins to move and open its mouth. Shit, it's the basilisk! No, now's my chance to kill it! Where the fuck is my wand? As I cast about trying to find it, Tom points Draco's wand at me, and I'm held firmly in place by ropes. 

"Stay there and die, foolish boy," Tom says. "Don't think that I didn't know about your clever plan. You aren't nearly so smart as you think you are." 

Whatever else happens, I must not look into the basilisk's eyes. Let me die by poison if I must die. But I'm not about to lay down and die without a fight. 

The giant snake slithers toward me. I can't move enough to reach my wand, but I manage to slip my left hand over to my right wrist, where my watch is. But how can I make it crow without a wand? I can't adjust the time. It's a spell that tells it what time it is, and it will be hours before dawn. 

This would be a really good time to be able to cast spells wandlessly. " _Accio_ wand!" I say, but nothing happens. 

"You're not nearly good enough for that yet, little boy," Tom says. 

" _Lumos!_ " I say, but my fingers don't light up. The basilisk is bearing down on me. No, there is exactly one spell which I know I can always cast, wand or not, but I have no idea whether it will be enough. It's worth a shot, however. And I damned well have the anger for it at the moment. " _Fulgoris!_ " Lightning bursts from my fingertips, not nearly as powerful as with a wand, but enough. I shock myself in the process, and I might have damned the watch, but... 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" And the basilisk slumps to the ground and is still. 

"No!" Tom exclaims. 

I'm twitching a little at having electrocuted myself. That _hurt_. But I'm alive, and the basilisk is dead, so all is well, right? 

"Don't think that was the only thing I could do to you," Tom says, and then looks over my shoulder. From the entrance to the Chamber, there's the sound of the doors rumbling open. " _Imperio_." 

The ropes fall away. _Go pick up your wand_. Yes, I need my wand in order to defend my master. I scramble over and snatch it up, and point it in the direction of the intruder. Snape is here, along with Myrtle floating along behind him. 

"What's going on here?" Snape demands, peering at the scene. 

_Kill him_. The voice in my head demands the death of this interloper. " _Fulgoris!_ " I exclaim. 

Lightning shoots from the end of my wand, but Snape has a shield up in an instant, and my spell splashes against it with no effect. I don't think I'm nearly good enough to beat Snape in a stand-up fight like this. 

"Put down your wand at once, or I will have him kill Draco," Tom says. 

I don't want to do that. I'd rather die than harm Draco. But if my master demands it of me, how can I refuse? 

"Who are you?" Snape demands. 

"I believe you are more familiar with me than you realize," Tom says. With Draco's wand, he writes words in the air: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. With a flick of the wand, the letters rearrange themselves: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. 

" _You_ are the Dark Lord?" Snape says incredulously. 

"I am a memory of the man who would become the Dark Lord," Tom says. "Now, surrender at once, or face the consequences." 

Myrtle darts through the air toward the apparition. The two collide, and Myrtle, more solid than I thought a ghost could be, manages to knock Draco's wand out of his hand. 

"Foolish ghost," Tom says. "To think it was _your_ death that enabled the creation of this diary! But merely not having my wand in hand is not enough to stop my control over him. Kill Draco!" 

_Kill Draco_. The voice in my head orders me to slay my friend. _Kill him now_. I turn toward Draco and raise my wand. No. No, no, no, no, no. I don't want to do this. I'm not going to do this! 

"No!" I snap. 

"No?" Tom says. 

"You will not order me around _any more_ ," I growl. 

"So, you shook off my control, did you," Tom says. "But you still cannot destroy me. _I am immortal!_ " 

Myrtle punches him in the face. "You're a damned ghost with an overinflated ego, nothing more." 

Tom tries to move to retrieve Draco's wand, but Myrtle holds him in place, wrestling him to the ground. I have to destroy the diary. But how? Wait, Draco suggested something about basilisk venom. There's a basilisk laying on the ground not twenty feet away from me. I can't afford to touch it, however, or Tom might be able to control me again. 

"Snape!" I say. "Can you try destroying that book with basilisk venom?" 

"No!" Tom cries out. "You will do no such thing!" 

"You are threatening my students and have admitted to killing another," Snape says. "I think it's time for you to be gone." 

With a flick of Snape's wand, the diary lifts into the air and sails over toward the maw of the basilisk. Tom's screaming turns into wailing as Snape impales the diary upon a fang, and venom seeps into it. The apparition vanishes in a swirl of smoke. I collapse to my knees, panting and twitching. 

"Potter, are you injured," Snape says, approaching. 

"Don't worry about _me_ ," I say. "Check on Draco." 

Snape goes over to Draco and bends down next to him, running a few diagnostic spells. "Poison Needles Curse," Snape says. "But I detect no sign of poison in his system." 

"I gave him a bezoar," I say. 

"So you do pay attention in class after all," Snape says dryly. "Your abysmal Potions scores notwithstanding." As he works on Draco, he asks, "So tell me, what exactly happened here, anyway?" 

"The diary was controlling me," I say. "But I don't know what happened while I was under its power." 

"You suddenly attacked Draco," Myrtle says. "I didn't recognize most of the spells you cast. But I managed to knock the diary out of your hand." 

"I thought ghosts couldn't really affect the world," I say. 

"Well... I've had a lot of practice with making my toilet overflow," Myrtle says, shrugging. 

"Myrtle, you're amazing," I say. "We'd be dead if it weren't for you." 

"I finally got revenge on the one who killed me, though," Myrtle says brightly. "I'm sorry it took so long to get back inside. The way closed behind you, and I had to figure out how to make the sound the two of you were making to tell it to open up again." 

Snape straightens, and says, "Malfoy will recover. But for now, we should get the two of you to the hospital wing. We can discuss what the two of you were doing down here after curfew at another time." 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

" _Mobilicorpus_ ," Snape casts, and Draco's unconscious body hovers into the air. "Can you walk, Potter?" 

"Yes, sir," I reply. I straighten with some effort, and go over to retrieve my wand. I feel weak and sore all over. But I'm alive, and Draco is alive, and the basilisk and Tom Riddle have been destroyed, and that's the important thing. 

I don't think, in my current state, that I'd even be able to make it out of the Chamber of Secrets without Snape's help. Myrtle drifts along behind us as Snape guides us to the hospital wing. Snape lays Draco down on one of the beds, and I crawl onto the one beside him and collapse with a soft groan. 

Snape brings in Madam Pomfrey, who comes over to examine us. As she's examining Draco, Snape comes over to take a look at me. 

"Hmm," Snape says. "It looks like Potter was hit with a powerful Lightning Curse. Did he cast that on you?" 

"Self-inflicted," I reply. "Probably just as well that I cast it without my wand." 

"You managed a _wandless_ curse of that magnitude?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. 

"I have a particular talent for lightning," I say. "That's the only spell I can cast wandlessly." 

"I am certain that you must have had good reason to electrocute yourself," Snape says dryly. 

"Here, drink this," Pomfrey says, offering me a potion. "Now, move along, Severus. You can interrogate my patients in the morning." 

That must have been a sleeping potion of some sort that she gave me. My eyelids suddenly feel very heavy, and I drift off into slumber in moments. 

* * *

I wake to what sounds like a sick rooster crowing weakly. I open my eyes and see that I'm in the hospital wing. Lucius Malfoy is sitting between my bed and Draco's. Myrtle is floating quietly at the end of my bed, as if watching over me in a silent vigil. 

Lucius looks over at me and says, "Hardly a day back at school and my son is already in the hospital wing." 

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. 

"They assured me he will recover," Lucius says. "But I want to know why. What happened to bring about these circumstances?" 

"It was the Dark Lord," I say. 

" _What?_ " Lucius says incredulously. 

"Potter is correct," Snape says, entering the room and showing Lucius the impaled, charred remains of the diary. 

"What happened?" Lucius says, half in panic. 

Draco groans and wakes. "If the dying rooster didn't wake me up, the sounds of my father yelling in disbelief would," he comments. 

"Draco, how do you feel?" Lucius asks. 

"I've been better," Draco says. "But I'll live. So... somebody care to fill me in on what exactly happened?" 

"That's what I'd like to know," Lucius says. 

Snape puts up a privacy spell. Myrtle, Snape, and I proceed to give a recap of what happened down in the Chamber of Secrets. This is well past the point of attempting to keep secrets from anyone, especially about this. Lucius listens quiet to our tale, frowning deeply as we conclude. 

Draco says, "So, in other words, Harry saved my life." 

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "It was my fault that your life was even in danger in the first place." 

"Nonsense," Draco says. "You couldn't have known that would happen, and besides, I chose to go down there with you, knowing that it might be risky." 

"And even still, it's only because of Myrtle and Snape that _either_ of us are still alive," I add. 

Snape puts his forehead in his palm and sighs. "If one would listen to you, we would all bear a life debt to everyone else," Snape comments dryly. "Fortunately for you, they do not work that way." 

"Besides," Myrtle says. "I finally got the chance to get revenge upon the one who murdered me, _and_ you killed his pet giant snake, too." 

"Does that mean you're going to be moving on at last, Myrtle?" Snape says dryly. 

"Certainly not," Myrtle says. "I have friends here, and I'm quite content with my situation. In fact, I couldn't be happier." 

"You seem entirely too _merry_ of late to be called Moaning Myrtle," Snape comments. 

"Merry Myrtle?" I say. 

"Merry Myrtle!" Myrtle repeats gleefully. 

"So," I say. "Can I donate the basilisk corpse to the Hogwarts Potions Master?" 

"While I appreciate the gesture, I doubt the creature belonged to you in the first place," Snape says. 

"Well, it belonged to Salazar Slytherin, right?" I say. "And you're the head of Slytherin House? And besides, I killed it, so I can claim it as a trophy, right?" 

Snape smirks. "Although all things considered, the only one who is likely to object to such a thing is the Dark Lord, regardless. And since the thing is already dead anyway, it would be a shame to let valuable potions ingredients go to waste." 

I grin broadly at Snape. 

Snape clears his throat. "Regardless, the two of you are excused from classes for the day. Madam Pomfrey would keep you in here for a week if she had her way, but I do not believe that should be necessary. You should be able to return to classes tomorrow. So rest up while you can." He turns and leaves the room. 

Lucius casts his own privacy spell over those of us remaining in the room. "Am I to understand that you not only saved Draco from poisoning with a bezoar, but you also managed to fight the Imperius Curse in order to refuse an order to kill him?" 

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. 

"In that case, regardless of what Severus says, I believe the claim of a life debt applies," Lucius says. 

"I can't accept that, sir," I murmur. "There are many things I haven't told you. I still have some pretty big secrets." 

"I know," Lucius says. "That doesn't matter, though." 

"My future knowledge is spent," I say. "From here on out, I'm flying blind." I sigh and rub my eyes. "I went back in time during my second year. I'm not some powerful adult wizard in a child's body." 

"I know," Lucius says. "I figured that out already." 

I stare at him. "You... did?" 

Lucius chuckles softly. "And, normally, I might be more upset about destroying an object that the Dark Lord himself gave me to keep safe for him," Lucius says. "However, given that it was attempting to kill my son and heir, I'll gladly overlook that." 

I let out a long, ragged breath. All my concerns had been for nothing. It's like a weight lifted from my shoulders, and I have to let out a laugh as I realize how worked up I'd been about it. How much I'd feared losing the Malfoys' favor. 

"Why, Lucius?" I ask. "You know I'm not really going to be the next Dark Lord." 

"Because, better someone who would defend his friends with his life without a second thought, than someone who would destroy my entire family on a whim," Lucius says. "On behalf of the Malfoy family, we are in your debt."


	48. Too Much Truth

Draco's napping again shortly, but I'm wide awake and staring at the ceiling in the hospital wing. It's an incredibly boring thing to be stuck in here with nothing to do, and not even be able to sleep. And I don't want to guzzle another potion to _make_ me sleep, either. 

Thankfully, before lunch, Dumbledore comes in to break up the tedium. Well, I'm sure that wasn't his intention. He probably just wants to interrogate me a bit. But that's alright. 

"Good morning, Headmaster," I say. 

"It's good to see you are well," Dumbledore says, and he casts a privacy charm over us before pulling out the remains of Tom Riddle's diary. "Severus showed me this and told me what happened. Was this the source of our troubles this year?" 

"Yes, sir," I say glumly. 

"It is good that this was destroyed," Dumbledore says. "Do you have any idea what this is?" 

"Tom claimed it was, um... a memory of the one who would become the Dark Lord," I say. "I assumed it was like a portrait or something, but it seemed a lot more powerful and sinister than a mere portrait." 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. "I have a suspicion on what we may be looking at here that might explain how our dear friend Tom managed to survive, but I will need to run some tests and analyses to be certain of it. It would be easier to discern if this diary here were still intact, of course, but it's best that it was destroyed." 

"It was a very dangerous magical artifact," I say. 

"Quite so," Dumbledore agrees. "Tell me, how did these events come to pass? Who had this diary originally and brought it into the school?" 

I sigh. "I don't know precisely how it happened in the last timeline," I say. "There, my house-elf found the diary in a rubbish bin and brought it to me when he failed to vanish it. I wrote in it, and Tom led me to believe that someone had forced him to reveal his secrets, and offered to help me stop the culprit. And this year, I ran across the diary by chance while staying at the Malfoy household. I'm ashamed to say that I was taken in again, tricked, lied to, and used. This was all my fault..." 

"You couldn't have known, Lexen," Dumbledore says gently. "Tom can be a very charismatic and persuasive man. He would have told you anything to get you to do what he wanted, and the object may well have had further spells upon it in order to subtly compel you." 

"I still killed two people," I say quietly. "I could have avoided this. I could have prevented this. I was trying to _stop_ this. Damn it all, and damn _him_. I had no idea that this charming Tom Riddle was really the Dark Lord..." 

"It's not your fault, Lexen," Dumbledore assures me. 

"I could have at least avoided Jennifer's death," I say, rubbing my ears and wiping away the unbidden tears. 

"From the sounds of things, you managed to prevent many _more_ deaths that would have otherwise occurred," Dumbledore says. "How many died the last time?" 

"Several students. Several teachers. Hogwarts was shut down," I mutter. "That doesn't make it right, though. I don't want _anyone_ to die like that." 

"You can't always save everyone, Lexen," Dumbledore says. 

"Can't I?" I demand. "Why can't I?" 

"Do you intend to prevent any death that occurs anywhere in the world?" Dumbledore asks. 

"No," I reply, sighing. "But I intend to try to prevent any children from dying at Hogwarts again. Is that too much to strive for?" 

"That is a perfectly reasonable goal," Dumbledore says. 

* * *

Hermione, Neville, and Luna come to visit us in the hospital wing after classes end for the day. Myrtle drifts along after them, or more like bounces in the air. Hermione casts a privacy spell over us as they get close. 

"Are you alright?" Neville asks. "We've been worried about the two of you." 

"To think you somehow managed to get sent to the hospital wing after only having been back at school for a day," Hermione says. 

"Yeah, I know," I say, chuckling softly. "One would think that this is an improvement over dying, however." 

"How many times did you die, Stormseeker?" Hermione asks. 

"None," I reply. 

"Seriously?" Hermione says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don't ask me how," I say, snorting softly. "I fully expected to die there, from one thing or another." 

"Why did you take Draco along, but you didn't tell _us_ what you were doing?" Neville asks. 

I rub my eyes. "How much do you know about what happened?" I ask. 

"Myrtle filled us in when we heard you were in the hospital wing," Hermione says. 

I hadn't intended to tell them everything, but I find I'm not especially upset about that. What's done is done, and I'm sick of secrets. "Thanks, Myrtle," I say. "I didn't really care to go into the full recap again." 

Myrtle smiles brightly and spins around in the air. "Happy to help." 

"I honestly didn't want anyone else in the Chamber of Secrets while the basilisk was still alive," I say. "Draco insisted on coming along, though, and since he helped me figure things out with it and decipher the password to get inside, I could hardly argue." 

"I suppose I can understand that," Hermione says. "Who knows what might have happened if I'd come inside, with me being a Mudblood and all." 

"Yeah," I say. "But now it's safe and we know the Parseltongue word to get inside, so we can visit the Chamber of Secrets again whenever we want. I'll show you all around the place later if you want to see it." 

"And this is that hidden library you found?" Hermione asks. 

I nod. "Hopefully there aren't any books in there that are cursed to kill any Mudbloods that touch them." 

Hermione blinks at me. "You might have thought of that before bringing out books and giving them to me," she points out. 

"Sorry," I say with a smirk. "I honestly didn't think of that before now." 

"I hope there aren't too many nargles down there," Luna comments. 

* * *

I wake in the evening after eating dinner to find Lockhart looking down at me with a distressingly gleeful expression on his face. 

"Lockhart?" I say. 

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Lockhart says cordially. 

"Still a little sore, but much better," I reply reflexively. Wait, why is Lockhart being so friendly toward me? 

"Where is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets located?" Lockhart asks. 

"In the girls' restroom on the first floor," I reply. Why did I just tell him that? 

"How do you get in?" Lockhart presses. 

"You speak the Parseltongue password to the middle sink," I say. Oh, no. He's dosed me with Veratiserum, hasn't he? Shit. 

"What is this password?" Lockhart asks. 

I repeat the word in Parseltongue. Where is my wand? I cast about, but I find I can't move. 

"Interesting," Lockhart muses. "So, you are a Parselmouth, Potter?" 

"No," I reply. "That's the only word in Parseltongue that I know." I'm starting to panic now. I can't let him wrest all of my secrets from me, laying here helplessly. What if he starts asking the wrong questions? "Since you were kind enough to give me Veratiserum, you'll know that I'm being completely truthful when I say that I'm going to kill you, Lockhart." 

"I think not," Lockhart says. "Once you're done answering my questions, you won't remember a thing. Now, who else knows about the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"Draco, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Snape, Lucius, Dumbledore, Myrtle," I reply. "Good luck Obliviating all of them so you can take credit for this. Do Memory Charms even work on ghosts?" 

Lockhart frowns a little. "No matter. I will deal with that myself," Lockhart says. "Now tell me, how did you first enter the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"Salazar Slytherin's painting let me inside," I reply. Damn it, that wasn't even in this lifetime. 

"Where is Slytherin's portrait located?" Lockhart asks. 

"In a hidden room in the Headmaster's tower," I answer. 

"How did you ever get Slytherin's own portrait to agree to help you?" Lockhart wonders. 

"I told him that I'm a pureblood, and that an infiltrator was trying to steal his secrets," I answer. No good, he's getting too close to dangerous information. 

"He believed that a half-blood like you is a pureblood?" Lockhart says. 

"I _am_ a pureblood," I reply. 

"Your mother was a Muggleborn, as I recall," Lockhart says. "Am I mistaken about that?" 

"Lily Potter was not my mother," I say. "Argh. Fucking Veratiserum." 

"Oh, really now," Lockhart drawls. "Interesting. Most interesting indeed. Now, who--" 

" _Flipendo!_ " snaps Draco, and Lockhart is knocked across another bed. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he says, pointing his wand at me. Suddenly I can move again. "You didn't dose me high enough, you Mudblood bastard." 

I reach over and grab my wand. I sit up in bed and point it at Lockhart, and say, " _Petrificus Totalus_." Lockhart, in the process of getting to his feet again, is held firmly in place. "Thanks, Draco." 

"No problem," Draco says. "Where is Madam Pomfrey with all this going on? You'd think she'd have kicked him out by now." 

"You'd best go make sure she's alright," I say. "I'll take care of the aforementioned Mudblood bastard." 

"Right," Draco says, and heads off to look for her. 

"So, Lockhart," I drawl, stepping over the man's prone form. "What do you suppose I should do with you? I should just get it over with and murder you already before Pomfrey gets back in here. But after all you've put me through, I want you to suffer. _Mobilicorpus_." 

I haul Lockhart's floating body out into the corridor, hoping that nobody notices what I'm doing. I can't fit both of us under the invisibility cloak. Well, I'll look less suspicious if I'm wandering around by myself than if I'm hauling Lockhart's frozen body after me. I pull out my invisibility cloak and drape it over Lockhart. With that, I head toward the Forbidden Restroom. 

"Potter, what are you doing out of bed?" Snape asks, seeming to loom out of nowhere from around a corner. 

"I'm going to go murder Lockhart," I reply. "Gah, fucking Veratiserum..." 

"I... see," Snape replies, raising an eyebrow. "While I understand the sentiment, I'm afraid I cannot condone the murder of an active staff member. You should at least wait until the term is over before committing homicide. What did Lockhart do to you?" 

"He dosed me with Veratiserum, questioned me about the Chamber of Secrets, and was going to Obliviate me in order to take credit for it himself," I reply. "And I'm certain that he intended to Obliviate anyone else who knew the truth about it, too. Including you, since he also made me list the names of everyone else who knew about it." 

"I see," Snape says darkly, eyes narrowing. "And where is Lockhart now?" 

"Right behind me," I reply, turning back to poke at where he should be. "Damn it, don't tell me he got away while I was paying attention to you?" 

A feeling of dread overcomes me. Lockhart could sneak up behind me from anywhere with that cloak, and I'd never see him coming. He could Obliviate me before I even realized he was there. _Fuck_. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter. 

"Language, Potter," Snape says. 

" _Lockhart has my invisibility cloak_ ," I bark. 

"Where did _you_ get an invisibility cloak?" Snape asks. 

"Dumbledore gave it to me," I say. "He said it belonged to James Potter." 

"I see," Snape says, eyes widening a bit. "And how did Lockhart get it?" 

"I was trying to hide him so I could sneak him off to the Chamber of Secrets to murder him without anyone wondering why Lockhart's petrified body was floating through the corridors beside me," I reply. "And have I mentioned that I really hate Veratiserum?" 

"I'm rather fond of it, myself," Snape says dryly, shaking his head. "I must notify Dumbledore of events. You, do whatever you want. Do try not to make the situation worse. I realize that may be a bit much to ask, however." 

Snape skulks off, leaving me alone in the corridor. I head back to the hospital wing for now. I'm pretty sure Lockhart had dropped his wand when Draco used the Knockback Jinx on him, but it's not laying on the floor now. Why didn't I pick it up when I had the chance? I'm such an idiot. I cast a few random Lightning Curses around the room just to make sure he isn't hiding in here. 

Draco and Pomfrey aren't anywhere in sight, so I go off to look for them. I find them in the back. Pomfrey is fast asleep on a bed, and Draco is standing around staring at her blankly. I cast a Revulsion Curse over the door, and hope that Lockhart isn't _already_ in the room waiting to ambush me. 

"I can't wake her," Draco says. 

"It's a good thing he didn't use as strong a potion on you as he did on her," I say. 

"Who?" Draco asks. 

"Shit," I mutter. " _Fulgoris! Fulgoris! Fulgoris!_ " I make sure not to hit either of the people I can _see_ in this room, but I fail to hit anything else. 

"What are you doing?" Draco asks. 

"Making sure Lockhart isn't hiding in here," I reply. 

"What's going on?" Draco wonders. 

"Draco, do you remember us going down into the Chamber of Secrets?" I ask. 

"Of course not," Draco says. "It was Lockhart who discovered the way to get in. He's such an intelligent pureblood, isn't he?" 

"Draco, you've been Obliviated," I say, sighing. 

"Huh?" Draco says. 

" _We_ discovered the Chamber of Secrets," I say. "And Lockhart is a Mudblood fraud who is only good at Obliviation. He's trying to track down anyone who knows the truth so that he can take credit for it himself." 

Draco's eyes widen at me. "Seriously?" 

"Yes. I'll show you my memories of it in a Pensieve later," I say. "Right now, we've got a state of emergency on our hands here. Lockhart's on the loose, and he's got my invisibility cloak." 

Draco goes pale. "Oh, Merlin, that's not good." 

"I am so going to fucking kill him when I get my hands on him," I growl. "Come on. We need to warn Storm Army." 

"I'll get the Slytherins," Draco says. 

"We shouldn't split up," I say. "Let's get the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and then head down to the dungeons. Neville and Hermione are especially in danger." 

"Alright," Draco says. 

We leave the hospital wing and head upstairs to the Gryffindor Tower, alert the entire way for any sign of attack. 

"Should I wait outside?" Draco asks. 

"It's not safe," I say. " _Fortuna Major_." The Fat Lady's portrait opens up. "Come on in." 

Neville, Dean, and Hermione are clustered at one table doing homework, and we approach. It doesn't take long, however, for the other Gryffindors to notice the unexpected guest. 

"What's that bloody Slytherin doing in here?" Ron demands. "Why did you let him in?" 

"To keep him safe from Lockhart," I reply. I ignore Ron and turn to my friends. "We need to gather Storm Army. From this moment forth, consider us at war. Lockhart is our enemy. Treat him as such if you see him." 

"Stormseeker, what's going on?" Neville asks. 

"Lockhart has an invisibility cloak and intends to Obliviate us," I say. 

"I'm not going to stand for this," Ron says. "Lockhart is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I won't let you and your evil minions commit whatever foul acts you have planned! And what, exactly, do you plan to do if you find Lockhart?" 

"I will kill him slowly in the most painful way I can think of," I reply. 

"What's gotten into you, Stormseeker?" Hermione asks. 

"Veratiserum," I say, snorting softly. "Fucking Lockhart dosed me with it. One of several reasons I'm really, really angry with him at the moment." 

"You're on Veratiserum?" Ron says, then laughs. "Oh, that's rich. Potter! How many kills have you made _this_ school year?" 

"Two humans, one snake, and a book," I reply, then growl. "Bugger off, Ron." 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," Draco says, pointing his wand at Ron. "No more questions from you, Weasel." 

"You can't do that!" Seamus exclaims. 

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this all," Hermione stammers. 

"We're wasting time," I say. "Lockhart's a professor. He could just barge into any of our common rooms and attack us before we even realized it. He could slip into our dormitories unnoticed and Obliviate us while we sleep." 

"I refuse to believe that our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is really a threat to the students," Percy Weasley says. 

"I really don't care if you believe what I've said _under Veratiserum_ or not," I say darkly. "I need to keep my friends safe. Hermione and Neville are in particular danger. He already Obliviated Draco once." 

"Bastard," Draco mutters. 

"Let's go, then," Neville says, pulling out his wand and stepping up next to me. 

"But..." Hermione says quietly. "He said he killed people... and he's planning to kill Lockhart." 

"Considering everything Lockhart has done, I'm surprised it's taken him _this_ long to want to kill Lockhart," Neville says. 

"Oh, no," I say. "I've wanted to kill him all year. He's just crossed the line into wanting to kill him _immediately_ now." 

"But we would get in trouble," Hermione says. 

"Then stay here, if you think you'll be safe here, Hermione," I say. "I'm trying to _protect_ you here. You're my friend, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you. When he shows up to Obliviate you, he might just wipe your mind if everything you've read from those books I brought you, too." 

"Alright, I see your point," Hermione says quickly. "I'm with you." 

"Me, too," Dean agrees. 

"Why did you turn on us, Dean?" Seamus asks. 

"Because the Stormseeker is bloody scary," Dean says. "And I'd much rather be with him than against him." 

After having spent more time in the common room than I had intended to, the five of us leave the Gryffindor Tower again and make our way to the entrance to Ravenclaw. My friends take up formation around me, wands out and alert, ready to defend against any attack. 

We reach the Ravenclaw Tower. I rap the eagle knocker, which asks me, "This thing all things devour: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down." 

"I don't have _time_ for riddles," I snap. 

"Correct, the answer was 'time'," the eagle replies. "You may enter." 

"You got lucky," Draco says, smirking as we step inside. 

I haven't been to the Ravenclaw common room often, mainly with Luna, but every time I've seen it, it's full of people quietly studying. Tonight is no exception. 

"What's going on?" asks one of the Ravenclaw prefects, approaching us. 

"We're gathering Storm Army," I reply. "I particularly need to protect Luna. She's in danger." 

"I'll let them know you're looking for them," she says. "Wait right here, I'll be back in a moment." 

In a moment, Luna comes up to join us, along with Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst. "Hello, Stormseeker," Luna says dreamily. "Are you planning to kill someone?" 

"Yes," I reply automatically, then mutter a little. "Damn it, Luna, I'm under Veratiserum here." 

"Sorry, Stormseeker," Luna says. 

"Wait, who are you going to kill?" Mandy asks in alarm. 

"Lockhart," I say. 

"Can we help?" Terry says. 

"Certainly," I say, grinning. 

"I really don't like this," Mandy says. 

"Then stay here and do what you please," I say. "I seek to protect my friends from a clear and present enemy. If you don't want my protection, then go along, do whatever you want." 

"Fine, I'll do that, then," Mandy says. "Be glad I don't tell the teachers you're planning to _murder_ someone." 

"You don't know the situation," Draco says. "Lockhart already Obliviated me!" 

Mandy shakes her head, and says, "No, I want no part in this. Go on without me." She turns and heads back for her dorm. 

"Alright, let's go," I say. "It's almost curfew and we still need to get down to the Slytherin common room." 

We keep alert as we head downstairs for the dungeons. Lockhart hasn't dared to attack such a large group yet, but I don't want to let our guard down, just in case. We make it to the entrance to the Slytherin area, and Draco says, " _Vipera_. Alright, come in, guys." 

"You'd let us in?" Terry asks. 

"I've just been in the Gryffindor _and_ Ravenclaw common rooms," Draco says. "If anyone complains, I'll hex them." 

We step into the Slytherin common room. This, unsurprisingly, causes something of a stir among the students present at the moment. 

"Malfoy, what are you doing bringing outsiders in here again?" says Flint. 

"Lockhart Obliviated me!" Draco exclaims. 

"He what now?" says one of the prefects. 

"Listen up!" I snap, raising my voice to address the room. "Lockhart is a fraud of a Mudblood who is only good at Memory Charms. He intends harm upon me and my friends, and I do not mean to allow him to do anything to us!" 

"Why should we listen to _you_?" demands a seventh year boy. 

"Because I'm right, and I'm under Veratiserum, so I can't lie to you right now anyway," I say. I blame the fact that I keep telling everyone that I'm under Veratiserum on the Veratiserum. When is this damned thing going to wear off, anyway? 

"You're a Gryffindor, and a half-blood, which is bad enough, but you've dragged more half-bloods and Mudbloods into our sanctuary," says another older boy. "You _are_ a half-blood, aren't you?" 

"No," I reply, and then snarl. "Damn it, stop asking me questions." 

"Wait, you're a pureblood?" asks a girl. 

"Yes," I say. "So far as I know." 

"I don't know if that's technically accurate," Hermione says quietly. "It's complicated. But this isn't the place for that line of discussion." 

"Leave the Stormseeker alone," Draco says. "He said no questions." 

"Stormseeker, are you a dark wizard?" asks another boy. 

"Yes," I answer. 

"Are you secretly the child of a Dark Lord?" asks another girl. 

"Yes," I reply, and then glare. "Stop it! Enough!" I mutter, "Damn it, like I need more rumors." 

The sixth year prefect girl points her wand at me and says, " _Silencio_." She turns to glare at the others. "I think you've all taken quite enough advantage of his state. Run along to bed now." 

"But--" 

" _Go_ ," she demands. The students who had been harassing me grumble and file out of the room. This prefect is the same one who helped us out on several occasions before. I feel a little bad about the fact that I've never caught her name. 

Draco says, "Thanks, Gemma." 

"No problem," Gemma says, canceling the spell on me. "Now, what are we going to do with you lot? It's past curfew now, and I really ought to escort you back to your own common rooms. What were you intending to do, Harry?" 

"I was going to gather Storm Army and take them to the Chamber of Secrets," I reply. 

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Gemma says in surprise. "No, forget I asked. But why there?" 

"It would be easy to defend against an attack," I say. "And doubtful, although not impossible, that our enemy could get inside in the first place." 

"You really think Lockhart is going to attack you?" Gemma asks. 

"I have not the least shadow of doubt in my mind that he will attempt to Obliviate me and anyone else who knows about the Chamber of Secrets," I say. "He wants to take credit for finding it himself. Also, he has tried to use Memory Charms to convince everyone that he's a pureblood, not to mention that he's done all sorts of deeds that he really didn't do." 

"I see," Gemma says, frowning. 

"And, while the number of people who know about the Chamber of Secrets has grown considerably since he forced me to give him a list, I still would rather not allow him to Obliviate anyone else," I say. 

"No kidding," Draco says. "He made me think that he's a handsome and intelligent pureblood! When we finally catch him, I want a turn at hexing him." 

"Alright, look," Gemma says. "You lot can stay here in the common room for the moment. I'm going to go talk to Professor Snape." 

"He already knows about the Lockhart situation," I say. "He went to inform Dumbledore, last I saw." 

"Still, I should ask him what to do about you," Gemma says. 

"It would be dangerous to go alone," I say. "Let two of my companions accompany you." 

"I'm a sixth year, and a prefect," Gemma says. "I'm sure I can handle myself. Besides, he has no reason to think _I'm_ one of your followers, or that I'd know about the Chamber of Secrets." She chuckles softly. "I appreciate the gesture, though." 

She heads out of the Slytherin common room. My group spreads out around the room, joined by our Slytherin members. Some of us go to relax, while others diligently take positions guarding the door, just in case. 

"Did I hear you right?" Theodore says. "You found the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Wow," Blaise says. "What's it like?" 

"It looks like it hasn't been cleaned since Hogwarts was built," I reply. "But Slytherin's private library is there, and it's a bit nicer in there, although some of the preservation charms are wearing off." 

"I still can't believe that bastard Obliviated me," Draco mutters. 

"So, what difference does it make if he's a Muggleborn or not?" Dean wonders. 

"It's not that," I say. "It's the principle of making everyone believe that you're actually a pureblood when you aren't. Besides, I still say there's no such thing as a 'Muggleborn' anyway." 

It doesn't take long for Gemma to return, followed by Snape. "It's bad enough you 'Storm Army' lot have taken over the Slytherin table," Snape says dryly. "But now you're taking over the common room, too? Why don't you just move in, while you're at it? That was sarcasm, not an actual question or invitation." 

"Hey, you told me to do whatever I wanted," I say, looking up from where I'm reclining on a cushy sofa. "What did Dumbledore say about Lockhart?" 

Snape raises an eyebrow. "What about Lockhart?" 

"Weren't you going to tell Dumbledore about the situation with him?" I ask, feeling a growing sense of dread. 

"I'm certain that Dumbledore already knows about how Lockhart discovered the Chamber of Secrets," Snape replies. 

"Crap, not you too," Draco says, groaning. 

"What are you talking about?" Snape asks. 

I sigh heavily and sit upright. "Professor, you've been Obliviated," I explain. "You don't remember anything now about how Myrtle came to get you when me and Draco were down in the Chamber of Secrets, and how you helped us?" 

"I remember no such thing," Snape says, scowling. 

"You were really hard to wake up," Myrtle says, popping into view. "I really had to clamor before you would budge, and when you finally did, I thought you were going to just exorcise me on the spot rather than actually listen to me." 

"Why should I believe any of this?" Snape asks. 

"Because I'm under Veratiserum," I reply. 

"Are you, now?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yes," I say, sighing. "You can go right ahead and ask me whatever embarrassing and incriminating questions you want. Everyone else seems to be enjoying doing it." 

"That would be abusing my position as your teacher," Snape says dryly. "And it would be beneath me to ask you who your favorite teacher is." 

"You are, sir," I reply. 

Snape blinks at me, and can't help but ask, "Me? But why? No, no, don't answer that." 

"Because you're a complete badass," I reply. "And you're always honest with me. I always know exactly where I stand with you. I enjoy your snarkiness. Also, you are incredibly hot." 

Snape glares at me and rolls his eyes. "You did _not_ just say that," Snape says. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that, and give you the Veratiserum antidote now." He pulls out a vial from somewhere and passes it over to me. "Drink that." 

I take the antidote gratefully and drink it down. "Thanks," I say. 

"Hmm," Luna says thoughtfully. "Maybe it's not blonds after all." 

I almost do a spit-take at that. I half choke on the potion, and cough a bit. "Luna," I say. "If you must make comments like that while I'm drinking something, could you at least restrict it to when I'm not drinking a potion, please?" 

"Oh, sorry, Stormseeker," Luna says lightly.


	49. The Wrong Secrets

After seeing her own head of house having been a victim of Lockhart, Gemma goes to rally the older students to defend the common room. They cast some spells over the entryway and the fireplace to make sure no one will be able to slip through undetected, and take up shifts guarding the ways into the room. 

"Come, Potter," Snape says. "We must see the Headmaster at once, and the quickest and safest way to get there is through the Floo." 

"Alright," I say. "Draco should come along too, so I can show him what really happened last night in Dumbledore's Pensieve." 

"Very well," Snape says. The three of us step over to the fireplace, and Floo up to "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" 

I tumble out of the fireplace as usual and land flat on me face. Draco, following after, almost stumbles on me. "How can you be so bad at that?" Draco mutters. 

"Severus?" Dumbledore says, looking up from the parchment he was writing on. "Is there a problem?" 

"We need to talk," Snape half-growls. "Have you see Lockhart this evening?" 

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore says. "He was in here earlier. I'm just now writing up a paper about his heroic discovery of the Chamber of Secrets." 

I groan softly and put my hand on my forehead. "Even you, Headmaster?" I say incredulously. 

"That is what I remember as well, but Potter claims that we've been Obliviated," Snape says. 

"I find these claims to be dubious," Dumbledore says. "Professor Lockhart has performed a number of wonderful feats throughout the years. It is hardly surprising that it should be he who finally uncovers such long-kept secrets." 

Myrtle appears, and says, "Well, he hasn't Obliviated _me_ , and _I_ remember things a little differently. Harry is the hero here! Lockhart has had it out for him all year!" 

Dumbledore frowns. "Am I to believe the word of a ghost and a student over that of myself and my own professors?" 

"Look," I say. "Don't take my word for it. I'll show you the memory of those events in your Pensieve." 

"You are an Occlumens," Dumbledore says. "You could have tampered with it." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape says. "The boy hasn't nearly the level of skill to pull that off. I don't know if _anyone_ could pull off actually fooling a Pensieve. The worst _he_ could do is show us something from another timeline." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says, sighing. "Let us see this memory, then." He gestures toward his Pensieve. 

I put my wand to my head and focus on the memory of the Chamber of Secrets, from when Draco and I started trying to destroy the diary until Snape hauled us out of there to take us to the hospital wing. A silvery thread emerges, which I drop into the Pensieve. The four of us then plunge in. 

"Those are some awfully dark spells you are casting there," Dumbledore comments. "What is that book?" 

"You'll see in a moment," I say. "By the way, you should still have what's left of that book sitting around in your office somewhere, I think. You took it and said you were going to analyze it." 

"I do not remember having seen that book at all," Dumbledore says, frowning. 

The memory Lexen picks up the book, and starts talking about other ways to destroy it. Then, after a moment, the scene blurs and skips ahead. Lexen rushes up to Draco's wounded form in a panic. 

"Was that a bezoar?" Snape says, and I nod. "I'm surprised by your foresight, Potter." 

And then the battle with Tom Riddle ensues. I refuse to give Tom what he wants, the basilisk dies, Snape arrives, and the diary is impaled on a basilisk fang. 

"You saved my life..." Draco says quietly. 

We're expelled from the Pensieve again. Dumbledore frowns thoughtfully and looks around a bit, and after some searching, pulls out Tom Riddle's charred diary with a puncture mark in the middle. 

"I think this confirms it," Dumbledore says. 

"I do not appreciate being Obliviated," Snape says, looking about ready to kill the man himself. 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. "Who else knows about this that he may target?" 

"Lucius Malfoy," I say. "Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. He probably already hit Madam Pomfrey." 

"Are these three students in their dormitories at the moment?" Dumbledore asks. 

I shake my head. "They're all in the Slytherin common room. Some of the older students have helped to form a blockade there to make sure they're kept safe." 

"I see," Dumbledore says. "I'm surprised that the Slytherins would help a Muggleborn like Miss Granger like that." 

"Perhaps not, but they'd help Ravenclaw's secret heir," Draco puts in. 

"Who told them such a thing?" Dumbledore wonders. 

"I think I started that rumor, sir," I say, smirking. 

"Is it true?" Dumbledore says. 

"It _could_ be," I say. 

Dumbledore shakes his head, and says, "Regardless, I must ensure that the children are safe." 

"My friends will be safe," I say. "Lucius should be warned, however. But we need to track down Lockhart. He also has my invisibility cloak." 

"That... will be a problem," Dumbledore says. He goes over and writes down a quick message, and hands it to his phoenix. "Fawkes, please take this to Lucius Malfoy at once." The phoenix takes the parchment and vanishes in a puff of flame. 

"This is indeed a serious matter," Snape says. "But we can hardly halt classes while an invisible Obliviate-happy madman wanders the castle." 

"I don't know how we might be able to locate him with that cloak, however," Dumbledore says. "This castle is expansive, and there are many places that one could hide." 

"You're the Headmaster, Dumbledore," Draco says. "Isn't there something _you_ can do? Can't the castle wards track people inside of them, or something?" 

"I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple," Dumbledore says. 

"I don't know about the wards," I say. "But I know of something that _can_ track everyone in the castle." 

"Do you, now?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"It's a map," I say. "It's currently in the possession of the Weasley twins, however. And to activate it, you need to tap it with your wand and say 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'" 

Snape groans softly. "That would certainly explain their proclivity for pranks and ability to avoid trouble. Fine, I will go confiscate this map." He turns for the fireplace. 

"Sir, you shouldn't go alone," I say. "There's nothing stopping Lockhart from getting inside the Gryffindor Tower, and he could Obliviate you again." 

"I will accompany him," Dumbledore says. "The two of you should return to the Slytherin common room where you will be safe." 

I open my mouth to protest, then think better of it and nod to him. "Alright." 

Draco and I return through the Floo. There are two older students watching the fireplace when I tumble out, and they point their wands at us warily. 

"It's just Malfoy and Potter," says one of them. 

"Don't let down your guard so easily," I snap. "Not just because I _look_ like who you think I am. That could be anyone wearing my skin. Confirm identities!" 

"Merlin, are you paranoid, or what?" says the boy. 

"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you," I reply. 

The girl standing watch at the other side of the fireplace snorts softly and says, "Only Potter could be so crazy as to suggest he isn't really himself." 

"That might be what I want you to think!" I say. 

"Do you really think Lockhart could be using Polyjuice when he already has an invisibility cloak?" Gemma comes up and asks incredulously. 

"I can't assume anything right now," I say. 

"Where's Professor Snape?" Gemma asks. 

"He went with Dumbledore to the Gryffindor Tower," I say, yawning. 

"You really should get some rest," Gemma says. "Weren't you and Draco still supposed to have been in the hospital wing?" 

"Yeah," I say. "I'm better, though, but still a little sore." 

"Why don't you two head up to our dorm?" Theodore says. "You can use my bed if you want. I'm keeping watch for now." 

"Alright," I say, yawning again. I'm not normally this tired after having only been awake for less than a day. I have a dreadful thought wondering if I _have_ already been Obliviated, but I dismiss it. I wouldn't still remember about the Chamber of Secrets or Lockhart being a Mudblood fraud if that were so. 

I feel pretty safe here, but I still cast a Revulsion Curse over Theodore's bed before I sleep. Just in case. 

* * *

By the time I wake, it's already past breakfast. Either I slept through my rooster watch crowing, or it didn't go off this morning. I glance at my watch, and see the image of the rooster twitching around uncomfortably. Poor thing. That Lightning Curse must not have been good for it. 

It feels strange waking up in a different dormitory, but at least I know I'm safe here. I head out for the common room. The room is still on high alert, although some of the students look a little weary after their night of vigilance. Dumbledore and Snape are hunched over a table, along with McGonagall and Flitwick, and look as though they're preparing for war. 

"Have you found him?" I ask, approaching them. 

"We've been tracking his movements all night," Dumbledore says. "He doesn't appear to have slept or stayed in the same place for long. We're waiting for him to rest in order to ambush him. He can't keep going forever." 

"What if he leaves the castle?" I ask. 

"Then we can track him via the Floo network," Dumbledore says. 

"And if he decides to just walk right out of the gates?" I ask. 

"We've sealed the gates," Dumbledore says. "Besides, he can't ignore us forever, either. If he gets away, he'll be back, so long as there are still people here who know his secrets." 

"So, what, we're just going to wait for him to make his move and play the defensive here?" I say. "I don't like it." 

"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster has made his decision," McGonagall admonishes me. "I don't recall him asking for your advice in this, however great you think you might be." 

"This is nonsense," I snap. "We need to go on the offensive!" 

"And allow Lockhart how many free shots at us because of that cloak?" Dumbledore say 

I sigh and rub my temples. "You're right, of course. I'm just stressed from all of this. I apologize." 

"You should have some breakfast, Harry," Dumbledore says. 

"Yes, sir," I murmur. "So long as you all are here, could I ask someone to look at my watch? I think it's been damaged, but I'm not sure." I take it off and put it on the table with the teachers. 

A house-elf brings me some food, and I sit down to eat my late breakfast. At least my aches from yesterday seem to have mostly faded away by now, but I still feel guilty about the whole situation. I make a mental note that if I ever have an enemy in my power again, I should kill them _immediately_ , when I have the chance, and not give them the opportunity to escape and cause further trouble. And definitely not give them a powerful magical artifact to help them cause said trouble. 

"The charms still appear to be functioning," Flitwick says. "Although the matrix has destabilized a bit. The rooster, on the other hand, isn't doing so well." 

"Can you cancel the transfiguration on it?" I ask. 

"I could," Flitwick says. "You wouldn't have a watch anymore, though I suppose you could re-transfigure it again." 

"It's alright," I say. "He's served his purpose. He can go back to being a chicken again, if he'll be able to recover that way." 

Draco pokes his head over and says, "All of this panic about Lockhart, and you're concerned about a _chicken_? Just send it to the house-elves to be broiled up for lunch and be done with it." 

"He might just be a chicken, but he's the chicken who slew the King of Serpents," I remind him. "No small feat. That deserves special recognition, I think." 

McGonagall and Flitwick cancel the spells upon the watch, and a rooster is sitting on the table. He doesn't look very good, but after another couple spells, he starts to perk up a bit. 

"The Headmaster told us of your encounter with the basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets," Flitwick says. "It is quite a stroke of luck that you happened to have a watch made from a real rooster. Most fortunate. You are a very lucky young wizard indeed." 

No need to tell him that that was the intention, even if things didn't quite work out exactly the way I'd planned. 

Snape scowls at the map. "Lockhart must have raided my potions stores at some point, or at least kept a Wideye Potion on him. The man doesn't seem to rest for a moment." 

"Where has he been going?" I ask. 

"He's in the Great Hall at the moment," Snape says. 

"He went to both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms," Dumbledore says. "He stopped by several staff offices. And he spent some time in the Forbidden Lavatory before disappearing off the map for several hours. Presumably he was inside the Chamber of Secrets during that period." 

"He was in the Chamber of Secrets?" I say, raising an eyebrow and putting my fork down. "For _hours_? Why didn't you ambush him while he was in there? And he could have slept while he was there, too!" 

"We would not have been able to get in regardless," Dumbledore says. 

"Myrtle could have let you in!" I exclaim. "She got Snape inside!" 

"Regardless, I doubt he would have slept down there, anyway," Snape says. "Probably spent the entire night poring over Salazar Slytherin's secrets, just like you have been doing. Sadly, he doesn't appear to have run across any fatally cursed books along the way." 

I sigh and resume eating. "And I'm sure there's a good explanation for not ambushing him in the Great Hall, either?" 

"A number of students have been gathered there, since classes were canceled for the day," Dumbledore says. "I would not wish to put them in danger." 

"And who knows what Lockhart might be telling them?" I say. 

"The other professors are watching over them closely," Dumbledore says. "I'm sure that Lockhart is not foolish enough to do anything rash with so many witnesses." 

I force myself to stay calm, letting my rage fuel the storm around my mind. It won't do to get angry with Dumbledore or start thinking that he's incompetent. I finish up my breakfast. I still don't really trust Dumbledore, but I'm thirteen years old, give or take some time travel confusion. I shouldn't think that I'd do everything better than him. Even if I can't fathom any good reason to allow Lockhart the run of the school under the circumstances. 

And then, some while later, Flitwick says, peering at the map, "I do believe he's leaving the castle." 

"He must have grabbed a broom and flew right over the walls," McGonagall says. 

I stare at Dumbledore. "You didn't consider this outcome?" 

"He'll be back, I'm sure," Dumbledore says. 

"And what if he's not?" I say. "How long will you keep classes shut down for fear of this fraud?" 

"You should not take such a tone with the Headmaster, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. 

"If he isn't back by tomorrow, we will resume classes as normal," Dumbledore says. 

"And who will teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for the second half of the year?" Snape wonders. 

"We will worry about that situation when things have calmed down a bit," Dumbledore says. 

"And if he escapes?" I say. 

"Then at least my students are no longer in immediate danger from him," Dumbledore says. 

"What's to stop him from just going to their homes when they're on holiday and attacking them then?" I demand. 

"Mr. Potter, that is quite enough!" McGonagall says. 

" _You_ told me he was harmless, Harry," Dumbledore says. 

"I was wrong!" I retort. "I made a mistake! This entire situation is all my fault..." 

"You can't blame yourself for everything," Dumbledore says. 

Why is it that the more I blame myself, the less anyone else blames me, no matter how much I deserve it? There were any number of things I could have done to prevent this. And failing all else, I could have killed myself after Lockhart got on the loose with my cloak. Now I just have a mess on my hands. 

No. That wouldn't do. That line of thinking is unproductive. I promised myself that I would not treat my power carelessly. I will not intentionally abandon my friends unless the alternative is worse. 

I shake my head at myself and go over to sit with my friends. It looks like Hermione and Neville dozed on the couches in the common room overnight. Luna is still quietly napping, herself. 

"I'm sorry," I tell them. 

"Why are you always apologizing for everything?" Draco says, plopping down on a couch next to me. " _You_ saved my life, and nothing you can say is going to make me think that this is all somehow your fault." 

"Because I made a damned mistake," I snap. "I let him get away. I should have just killed him then and there." 

Hermione looks at me with a touch of shock. "How is _not_ killing someone a mistake?" she wonders. "How can you think like that?" 

"Because if I'd killed him, we wouldn't be in this situation, missing class, and afraid that someone is going to swoop in and make us forget what really happened," I say. 

"And you could very well be on the way to Azkaban for murder," Neville points out. 

"Bah, like I haven't gotten away with murder before," I mutter. 

"That was in self-defense," Hermione says. "It _was_ in self-defense, wasn't it?" 

"So would this have been," I say. "Lockhart was attacking me! He forced me to take Veratiserum and would have Obliviated me given the chance! He _did_ Obliviate several people in the school already!" 

"I'm with the Stormseeker on this one," Draco says darkly. "Lockhart's better off dead." 

"You're talking about _murdering someone_!" Hermione says. 

I'd admonish her for talking so loudly about murdering someone, but a quick glance around at the room indicates that any Slytherins within earshot seem to either agree or don't really care. Then my blood goes cold for a moment as I remember what happened in here last night. Oh, crap, what did I tell them when I was under Veratiserum? That I was secretly the child of a Dark Lord or something? I groan inwardly. This is going to come back to haunt me, I just know it. 

"Hermione," I say in a strained voice. "I'm trying to protect you here. If you really want, you can just run off and let him Obliviate you. You can forget about everything, and live out the rest of your life never realizing what you might have missed. That little nagging sensation in the back of your mind that something is not quite right, but you can never quite put your finger on what it is. Is that what you really want, Hermione? I'm not forcing you to do anything. You can back out anytime you want." 

Hermione looks as though she's just been hit with a sledgehammer, and casts her gaze to the floor. "I didn't mean it like that," she says. "And I appreciate you trying to look out for us. I just... sometimes I wonder about you. And if your father really is--" 

"Hermione," I interrupt firmly in a warning tone. 

Flint leans over, snickering, and says, "We already know about your little secret. Remember last night?" 

I groan softly and cast a glare at him. "What, did that revelation make you change your tune, Flint?" 

"Far be it from me to argue with the Dark Lord's heir," Flint says lightly. 

I roll my eyes and put my face in my palms with a sigh. "I'm really glad that didn't come out in the Gryffindor common room instead," I mutter. 

"How _did_ you ever wind up in Gryffindor, anyway?" Flint asks. 

"Would you have prefered that I wind up in Hufflepuff instead?" I retort. "Now, leave me alone already before I cast annoying spells at you." 

"But there's four teachers sitting right over there," Flint argues. 

"Like they'd do anything to me," I say, snorting softly. 

"Try me," Flint dares. 

" _Pogontrophus_ ," I mutter. Flint spontaneously grows a full beard. 

"Hmm," Flint says, stroking at his new beard thoughtfully. He turns toward Gemma, who is approaching us, and asks, "Does this make me look dignified?" 

"It makes you look like a bum," Gemma replies dryly. 

Flint grumbles a little and wanders off. I smirk at his back as he goes. I have to give him credit, at least, for not flipping out at me over being jinxed. 

"You certainly know how to stir things up, don't you, Harry," Gemma says. "I hope things go back to normal soon." 

"Dumbledore says classes will resume tomorrow if Lockhart doesn't show up again by then," I say. "I'm thinking I'll take the opportunity to do some reading in the meantime." 

"How can you read at a time like this?" Neville asks. 

"You are such a Ravenclaw sometimes," Draco comments. 

I pull out a book from my bag and open it up, skimming through it a bit. "I was thinking of researching spells to kill Lockhart with, really." 

"I take that back," Draco says, snickering. 

"I, for one, am not content to sit back and wait for things to get worse before doing something," I say. "Hmm. _Incendio_ is a bit tame. Need something more destructive, and I'm better with curses anyway. Meh, screw it, I can just use a Lightning Curse." I shove the book back into my bag and bring out a knut. 

"What are you planning to do?" Gemma asks. 

"Kill Lockhart, of course," I answer, starting work on the enchantment. 

"How do you intend to do that?" Draco asks. "We don't even know where he is now." 

"Through the mail," I answer absently. 

"I'm sure there are laws and regulations against that sort of thing..." Hermione says dubiously. 

"Like anyone pays any attention to those anyway," Draco says. "Sending curses through the post is a time-honored tradition." 

"You're already learning about contingency spells?" Gemma asks. "In second year?" 

"I started learning about them in first year, actually," I say. "That's why there's a rooster over there. I made a watch out of a transfigured rooster and a couple charms. But it got damaged in my fight with Salazar Slytherin's basilisk." 

"So you really did fight a basilisk?" says a first year, popping his head into the conversation. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Isn't that something you should be keeping a secret?" Hermione asks. 

I snort softly. "The only one who can benefit from that being a secret anymore is Lockhart," I say. "Personally, I'd rather the truth were known." At least the truth that Lockhart had nothing to do with it. If any of the more incriminating actions of mine come to light, well, I can always claim to have been mind controlled by the Dark Lord. Hey, it worked for Lucius. And it also has the benefit of being pretty accurate, too. Damned Tom Riddle. 

Flint comes back, with his face neatly shaven. "I'm out of practice with Shaving Charms," Flint mutters. 

"That isn't something I would admit to, if I were you," Gemma comments. 

"Hey, it's hardly my fault I can't quite grow a proper beard," Flint says. 

"Flint, catch," I say, tossing the knut to him. 

"Huh?" Flint says, grabbing it out of the air. "Why are you-- gah, why is my hand hairy?" The Beard-Growing Jinx appears to have grown a beard on the back of his hand, rather than his face. 

"Oops," I say. "Well, I suppose it technically _worked_... sort of. Oh, well, keep the knut for the trouble." I say, snickering. 

Flint mutters some more, and goes off again. 

I test it a few more times with harmless spells, and then a low-powered Lightning Curse. Then, I bring out a piece of parchment and scribble out a message. "If you're reading this," I write, "then you obviously survived my curse. Congratulations. You've earned the right to live for a little while longer. But be warned that I'm out for your blood, and I will not stop until you are dead." 

Then I focus upon the parchment, and pour all of my hatred and rage into the spell, and snarl, " _Fulgoris._ " The parchment practically crackles with power for a moment, but I've set it to only go off when Lockhart touches it. "Alright," I say. "I'm heading for the Owlery to send this off. Who wants to come along and watch my back?" 

Neville, Hermione, and Draco immediately volunteer. Gemma says, "I'd best make sure you don't run into any trouble." The five of us head for the entrance to the common room. 

Snape intercepts us as we reach the entry. "And where might you be going?" he asks, and snatches the parchment out of my hands. "Interesting spell on this, 'Stormseeker'." 

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ask. I wonder if he's going to get me in trouble, give me detention, or anything. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for such a crudely cast, easily detectable spell," Snape says. He waves his wand over the parchment. "There. That will mask the curse and make it more difficult to detect, and hence more likely to actually go off." He hands it back to me. "Carry on." 

I gape at him for a moment. "You are totally my favorite teacher, sir," I say. 

"Don't let it get to your head, Potter," Snape says, stalking back toward the table where the other teachers are seated.


	50. Forgotten Secrets

Lockhart doesn't show up again, so classes start up as usual the next day, and everyone pretends that everything is perfectly normal again. However, at breakfast, Solomon delivers the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_ , with Lockhart's picture plastered all over the front page. The headline reads: LOCKHART EXPOSES HOGWARTS CONSPIRACY. The author is one Rita Skeeter. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I mutter. 

"What does it say?" Draco asks, leaning over to look. 

"Dark secrets loom within the ancient halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," I read. "Blah, blah, blah. It goes on about how we're all spreading lies about him and trying to conceal the truth about his discovery of the Chamber of Secrets." 

"What tosh," Draco says. 

"Oh, there's a high point at the end though," I say, and read, "Gilderoy Lockhart is currently in St. Mungo's Wizarding Hospital after receiving a Lightning Curse through the post from an unknown source. He is in serious condition, and his prospects of recovery are uncertain at this time." 

"Well done, Stormseeker," Draco says. 

"Not _too_ well, obviously," I say. "He's still alive. He might still make a full recovery. My spell wasn't strong enough." 

"Better luck next time," Neville says. 

"Don't worry, Stormseeker," Luna says. " _The Quibbler_ will continue to print the truth, even if no one else is willing to acknowledge it." 

We're still lacking a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Dumbledore's trying to track one down on short notice. Until he manages to find one, we've gotten a rather unconventional substitute. 

"Hello, everyone," says Myrtle brightly. "I'm going to be your substitute Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor until further notice. I am completely unqualified for this job, seeing as not only am I dead, but I never even had a chance to take my OWLs. And yet I still think I'll be a better teacher than that complete buffoon who had the job before me." 

"You go, Myrtle!" I say, applauding. 

"I'm going to start off my first class by telling you all about basilisks," Myrtle says. "I was killed by one, after all, so I think that makes me something of an expert on them. And I hear that the aforementioned buffoon is weaving some incredible tales about his prowess. Let me tell you what really happened." 

Myrtle makes sure that everyone in every year knows the real story of the Chamber of Secrets. And encourages the students to write home to their parents to warn them about the fraud who has gotten himself on the front of the _Daily Prophet_. 

The next day at breakfast, Draco receives a letter by owl. He opens it up, and his face falls when he reads it. 

"Something wrong, Draco?" I ask. 

"It's from my father," Draco says, frowning deeply. "Here, look." He passes it over to me. 

I frown as well as I look it over. Lucius is advising Draco not to believe Dumbledore's lies about the Chamber of Secrets. And some gushing about how Lockhart is such a skilled and intelligent pureblood who deserves appropriate recognition for discovering these secrets. "Shit," I mutter. "He must have been Obliviated. Damn that Lockhart." 

"Mudblood bastard," Draco spits. 

"I'm going to need to show him that memory, I think," I say, sighing. 

"The Muggles have a saying," Dean says. "It never rains, but it pours." 

"Sounds about right," Draco says. "This has been one hell of a week." 

"It's a good thing it's Friday," Neville says. "But who knows what Dueling Club tomorrow might bring?" 

On Saturday, the Dueling Club tournament is starting up. My first match is against Seamus. 

"You will rue the day you dared to stand against Phoenix Army!" Seamus exclaims. 

"Enough bantering," Snape barks. "Get up there and let's begin this duel." 

I know I'm better than him, and I think that knowledge winds up making me careless and complacent. 

" _Diffindo!_ " casts Seamus. 

The spell strikes me in the throat, and I collapse to the floor with blood gushing out of me. Snape is rushing up toward me, but, too slow, too late. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory. Ah, sudden, pointless deaths. Things are clearly back to normal around here. I go through my morning routine, and return to the Dueling Club. 

"You will regret ever crossing Hippogriff Army!" Seamus declares. 

Now I _know_ they're just pulling these names out at random. We step on stage and face off. I'm more prepared and alert for the duel this time, and when Seamus casts his Severing Charm, I quickly move out of the way. 

"Foul!" calls out Snape. 

"Hey, what do you think you're doing, trying to kill me?" I snap. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for using disallowed spells," Snape says. "Potter, do you wish to end the duel now and take a forfeit from Finnigan, or continue?" 

"I'll continue," I say. "I can beat him no matter what spells he's using." 

"Very well," Snape says, nodding. "Proceed." 

I defeat Seamus handily after that, and return to sit with my friends to watch the next fight. 

"Good job, Stormseeker," Neville says. 

"Yeah, you really showed him," Draco says. 

* * *

As it turns out, Lockhart winds up making a full recovery. Damn. I suppose I'll just have to keep trying to kill him. I start regularly sending curses through the mail, and some of the upper year Slytherins join in the game as well. 

"You could send him poisoned sweets disguised as gifts from an admirer," Dean suggests. 

"No poison," I state. 

"Sending cursed letters is okay, but not poison?" Hermione says, raising an eyebrow. 

"No poison," I repeat firmly. 

"I don't see how mailing him curses is any better," Hermione points out. 

"It's the principle of it," I say. "At least the curses are my _own_ spells." 

"And what about the letters being sent by the older Slytherins?" Hermione asks. 

"That's entirely their business," I say. "I didn't ask them to do that, but I'm hardly going to tell them they shouldn't." 

"I don't think sending curses through the post is going to work, at this rate," Draco says. "We will probably need to actually attack him head on sometime in order to end this." 

"You're probably right," I say. 

"I don't know if going so far as killing him is really necessary," Hermione says. 

"He Obliviated me," Draco says. "Worse, he went after my _family_. It's personal. I won't forgive him for this." 

And yet, weeks pass without sign of Lockhart dropping dead. After that first Lightning letter, none of our curses send him to the hospital again, and I doubt any of them even went off. At least Valentine's Day comes and goes without anyone really caring. None of Lockhart's ridiculous schemes to brighten up the day with pink hearts and bad poetry. 

Then Easter holiday arrives. I'm really, really nervous about this. Lockhart is still on the loose, and I don't know what he plans to do. Neville and Hermione opt to stay at the castle, but I'm heading to Malfoy Manor to try to make amends with Lucius. 

"So, what's this I hear about you trying to take credit for Lockhart's accomplishments?" Lucius asks me once we're back at his home. 

"That's the first thing you have to say?" I reply, sighing. 

"I'm very disappointed in you boys," Lucius says. "Lockhart is a skilled and capable pureblood. I don't care if you're actually a powerful adult wizard from the future. I won't tolerate this sort of nonsense from you. I want you both to drop it and stop spreading lies." 

"Father, it's not like that," Draco says. 

"Enough, Draco," Lucius says. "Run along. This is between Potter and I." 

I look at him coldly. "So, I'm back to being 'Potter', am I?" I say. 

"Father, we have _indisputable physical proof_ that what he claims happened in the Chamber of Secrets is true!" Draco argues. 

"Go to your room at once, Draco," Lucius snaps. Draco continues to grumble a little, but goes off as bidden. 

"I can show you the memory, you know," I say. 

Lucius shakes his head. "I won't believe any memories from you, Potter," Lucius says. "Those could be anything, from anywhere and any time." 

"Myrtle witnessed the entire scene, as well," I say. 

"I don't care for the word of a Mudblood ghost, either," Lucius says. 

"And you won't accept even the possibility of being Obliviated?" I ask. 

"Lockhart would never do such a thing," Lucius says. 

"He's a Mudblood himself, you know," I say. "I told you that last summer, when we were getting school supplies." 

"Nonsense," Lucius says. "I won't hear this slander any more from the likes of you." 

"So, is this how it's going to be, then?" I say, narrowing my eyes at him. I think my heart is breaking, even as it had when I first saw the Weasleys being hostile toward me. 

"You are still welcome in my home and as a friend of my family, if you will only drop the matter and publicly admit that you were lying about it," Lucius says. "I feel that I am being more than generous in allowing you this opportunity." 

I shake my head. "I'm afraid not," I say. "That Mudblood fraud is working to systematically destroy my life, and I will not back down." 

"Then begone from my home," Lucius says. "And I forbid you from associating with my son any longer." 

"Father, please don't do this," Draco says from the doorway. 

"I thought I told you to go to your room," Lucius snaps. 

"You're making a terrible mistake!" Draco exclaims. 

"Draco," I say. "You don't have to do this for my sake. I won't make you choose between your family and me." 

"This isn't about family," Draco says. "It's about the truth! Father, Harry saved my life!" 

"That's what he wants you to believe," Lucius says. "Isn't that awfully convenient for him, to concoct a story that leaves him with the Malfoy family owing him a life debt?" 

Draco's eyes widen. "But... but... I saw the diary, in Dumbledore's office, destroyed exactly as he said it was..." 

"What diary?" Lucius asks, narrowing his eyes. 

"The Dark Lord's diary," Draco says. 

Lucius casts a hard look at me. "You destroyed it?" 

"Yes, sir," I reply. 

"You destroyed an irreplaceable relic belonging to the Dark Lord?" Lucius says. 

"It was threatening Draco's life, sir," I say. 

"How convenient for you," Lucius says. "You clearly took it down to the Chamber of Secrets after Lockhart found it, in order to destroy it. I see what you're trying to do here, and I won't fall for it. Were you intending to use me from the start to strike at the Dark Lord?" 

"I didn't even know you had it!" I retort. 

"Like I'm going to believe that," Lucius says. "How far in advance did you plan this all? You knew exactly what you were doing, and you lied and manipulated my family to advance your own schemes. I'll stand for this no longer." 

I take it back. This is worse than what happened with the Weasleys. With the Weasleys, I never had anything in this life. Here, I'm watching what I had crumbling before my eyes. Shattered into a thousand pieces. Irreparably broken. 

Draco is staring at me as if uncertain what to believe. "Harry... is this true?" he asks quietly. 

"Of course not," I reply. "I'm not Slytherin enough to have manipulated you." 

"Enough of this," Lucius says. "Begone from my home. I will not hesitate to kill you if you should seek to harm my family again." 

I stand staring at him for several long moments without speaking, carefully trying to keep my turbulent emotions in check. I am the eye of the storm. 

"What about the Book of Truths?" I say. "I obviously must have stolen it from the Chamber of Secrets after Lockhart went down there in January, despite having given it to you before Christmas. I don't even know what sort of excuse you've come up with for that one." 

"What are you talking about?" Lucius says. "Do you mean the _Codex Veritatum_? Much as I would like to read it, I never had it." 

"It should be wherever you put it last," I say. "Unless Lockhart stole it from you, too, when he Obliviated you." 

"I do not believe you," Lucius says. "If the Book of Truths should find its way into my hands, then I might be convinced of your sincerity. But I think you're trying to spin lies again for your own benefit. Leave. Now." 

I sigh softly. It was worth a try. "Goodbye, Lucius," I say quietly. "I apologize for any trouble I have caused you and your family. Perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances in another life." I turn for the fireplace and drop in a pinch of Floo powder. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" 

I tumble through the Floo and out into Dumbledore's office. He looks up from his work when I appear, and say, "Is there a problem, my boy?" 

"The Malfoys have turned on me," I say. 

"Not an unexpected development," Dumbledore says. 

"It wasn't their fault," I say. "It was because of Lockhart. He Obliviated them." 

"Regardless, I must now take care of the situation," Dumbledore says. "Do not worry about them further. I have prepared for this contingency." 

I open my mouth to protest, but then think better of it and just sigh. "Yes, sir," I say. 

"Now, run along to your common room," Dumbledore says. "It's late, and I have things to take care of, and I'm certain your friends will be interested in knowing that you'll be staying at Hogwarts for Easter after all." 

I give a small nod and head for the Gryffindor common room, my heart low and my feet heavy. Hermione and Neville are sitting at a table, working on some homework, when I come in. They look up at me in surprise as I approach. 

"I thought you were going to the Malfoys for Easter," Neville says. 

"So did I," I say, plopping down in a chair next to them. "But that was an unmitigated disaster. Lockhart's actions have thoroughly turned them against me." 

"But... they know your secrets!" Hermione says, eyes widening in horror. 

"This could be really bad," Neville agrees. 

"Dumbledore said he'd take care of it," I say. "I guess he'll have somebody Obliviate them." 

"I suppose that'll keep the situation from getting any worse," Hermione says. "But what about Draco?" 

"He... stood by me at first, but I think even he was ready to turn against me by the end," I say. 

"That's terrible," Hermione says. "He was a good friend." 

"Lockhart has a lot to pay for," Neville says darkly. 

"What about the _Codex Veritatum_?" Hermione asks. "Didn't you leave that at Malfoy Manor over Christmas?" 

"I don't know what happened to it," I say. "It might still be there somewhere. Or Lockhart might have taken it. I'm not sure that I even can bring myself to care at the moment. I know it's an important, priceless relic. But right now... I just want to hurt something." I pull out a piece of parchment from my bag. "I think I'll take it out with some fan mail for Lockhart." 

I pour all of my rage, hatred, despair, and anger into a collection of curses. Contingency spells to trigger when Lockhart touches it, looks at it, reads it, is anywhere nearby. By the time I'm done with it, I'm thoroughly drained of both magical energy and negative emotions. 

"That should do," I mutter, dropping it on the table. 

"You look beat," Neville says. 

"I'll cast the Concealment Charm on the curses and take it to the Owlery," Hermione offers. "You should get some rest." 

"Thanks, Hermione," I murmur, and stumble upstairs. I'm so exhausted that I barely manage to change, and can't even get a Revulsion Curse up around my bed. 

* * *

Sadly, Lockhart survives my latest cursed letter as well. At least one of the spells went off this time, however, prompting the _Daily Prophet_ to mention an ongoing Auror investigation into the continued attempts on the life of the hero Lockhart. I hope they don't trace it back to Hermione or anyone else I care about. I don't care what happens to me, but I'd rather my friends not have to face the consequences for my own actions. 

Easter holiday ends, and the students return to Hogwarts. On the first morning after they return, I habitually take a seat at the Slytherin table like usual without really thinking about it. Draco pointedly doesn't even look at me, and Gemma approaches my group. 

"I think you guys should get back to your own table," Gemma tells me gently. "There's something of a schism in Slytherin at the moment, and I would rather not exacerbate it with the presence of outsiders. No offense." 

"I understand," I say, reluctantly standing up and going over to the Gryffindor table. I'm followed by Neville, Hermione, Dean, Luna... and Theodore. When I glance aside at him, he just shrugs and gives me a crooked grin. 

"Wow, you're actually eating at our table again?" Ron says as we take seats nearby. "I was starting to think you thought you were too good for us mere Gryffindors. But what's that Slytherin doing with you?" 

"Eating breakfast," Theodore replies. "I've no interest in disrupting things here. I just don't want to be involved in all of the stupid politics going on at the Slytherin table at the moment." 

"I can understand that," says a prefect girl. "You're perfectly welcome to eat here, as far as I'm concerned, if you don't cause any trouble." 

"I won't," Theodore promises. 

At the first Dueling Club session after Easter holiday, I see Draco on the opposite side of the room, sitting with Ron's group and avoiding mine. 

"You have had a few victories," Ron says. "But you will soon fall to the growing might of Weasley's Army!" 

"Weasley's Army?" Draco repeats. "Really? It's bad enough I have to join your group, but do you really need to call it _that_? Couldn't you go back to calling it Dragon Army or something?" 

It appears that Crabbe and Goyle have gone along with him, albeit reluctantly. None of the other Slytherins have gone, and Storm Army has already recouped the losses with the gain of a few Hufflepuffs. 

"It concerns me not at all what you call your little groups," Snape says. "Nor who is in which one. The tournament continues. Our first duel today will be Draco Malfoy versus Harry Potter." 

"Blast it," Draco mutters. "You did that intentionally, didn't you?" 

"I assure you, Malfoy, the fact that you and Potter coincidentally had a falling out over Easter did not affect my tournament schedules in the slightest," Snape says. 

"Come on, Draco, let's get this over with," I say. 

"I'm so going to kick your ass, Potter," Draco says. 

"At least pay lip service to proper dueling form, boys," Snape says. 

Draco and I face off against one another, and the duel begins. " _Flipendo!_ " I cast, but Draco dodges. 

" _Serpensortia!_ " Draco shouts, and a large, black snake appears on the stage between us. 

"Five points from Slytherin for unauthorized spell use," Snape says. "Continue?" 

I just nod to Snape, and cast, " _Fulgoris_." Lightning shoots from my wand, and the snake is electrocuted. It twitches for a few moments before going limp. 

With that out of the way, we exchange curses and counter-curses for several minutes, dodging and weaving, casting and blocking. I hate to admit that we seem to be about on an even level. We're perfectly matched. But I will not lose. Not to him, not to anyone. 

Suddenly, I feel pain in my ankle, and glance down. The snake Draco summoned has its fangs sunk into my leg. My Lightning Curse didn't kill it after all? Damn it. I can already feel the venom coursing into my veins. 

" _Diffindo!_ " I cast, neatly severing the snake's head. That'll finish it this time. But I'm already feeling woozy from the poison. There's bezoars in my bag. I fumble around to try to dig one out while simultaneously blocking another curse from Draco. I grab one, pop it in my mouth, and swallow. My head immediately begins to clear. 

"Professor, he's using outside materials!" Draco protests. 

"You forfeited the right to object when you cast unauthorized spells," Snape says. 

" _Tarantallegra! Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy!_ " I cast in rapid succession. Draco dodges the first two, but can't get out of the way of the third one fast enough. He drops to the floor, unconscious. 

"And the match goes to Potter," Snape says. " _Rennervate_." Draco wakes with a groan. "And don't you dare complain that that was unfair, Malfoy. _Relashio. Episkey_." The snake's severed head detaches itself from my leg, and the holes close up. 

Draco growls softly. "Potter!" he calls over to me. "We may have been friends once. You may have tricked me and my family into listening to you and going along with your wishes. But we're enemies now, and I won't forgive you!" 

"If that's the way you want it," I say with forced calm. "Then so be it." 

Draco stalks over to the other side of the room to sit with Ron. It's kind of baffling to see them together like that. Am I really that polarizing of a person to make people team up with those they hate just to oppose me? I really wish things hadn't turned out the way they did. At least I still have Hermione and Neville, and Dean and Theodore. 

"He almost acts like we were never really friends at all," Hermione murmurs as I go back to sit by them. 

Leaning over to examine my leg to make sure it didn't leave any marks, I mutter, "I'm pretty sure that Dumbledore had the Malfoys' memories modified. Didn't want them still knowing about who I really am and where I'm from, with them having turned against me and all." 

"Understandable," Theodore says. "Although unfortunate. The Malfoys were valuable allies." 

"Indeed," I say. 

"Maybe it's just as well," Neville says. "Maybe now, my gran won't go spare over the idea of us being friends." 

"Personally, it's Draco joining up with Ron that really confuses me," I say. "Considering the Weasleys hated me in the first place because I was being friendly with the Malfoys. How do either of them manage to justify that?" 

Dean says, "I don't think logic has much to do with it." 

After two more fights, Snape calls, "The next duel will be Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley." 

"Go, Neville!" I cheer as they walk up to the stage. "You can totally kick his ass!" 

The two of them face off and exchange spells. Neville has come a long way, and although he's nowhere near the level of me and Draco, he's been doing surprisingly well, considering where he started at. He's been pushing himself hard, and it has paid off. Neville knocks Ron down with a Tripping Jinx, and then follows through with a quick Disarming Charm. 

"Match goes to Longbottom," Snape says. 

Ron grumbles, "I can't believe I lost to _Neville_ of all people..." He wanders off to sulk. 

"Hey, Weasley!" Draco calls. "You owe me a galleon!"


	51. Raging Storm

The last Quidditch game of the year is Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. As I had before, I put on green and prepare to go out to the stands to cheer on Slytherin. 

"Should we really still be doing this?" Neville wonders. 

"Why not?" I say. 

"Well, Draco kind of seems to hate us now," Neville says. 

"He's obligated to," I say. "But I made a promise, and I intend to stick with it, even so." I snicker softly. "Besides, I think the other members of the Slytherin Quidditch team like me better at the moment, anyway." 

"That's because they think you're a Dark Lord baby or something," Neville says. 

"Oh well," I say. 

The _Daily Prophet_ has been rife with speculation about my parentage this year. I've been trying to ignore it for the most part, although it hasn't made Dumbledore too happy with me. I would really hate to be in his shoes trying to do damage control for all of this mess. 

Draco winds up catching the Snitch, winning Slytherin the Quidditch Cup for the year. 

Toward the end of the school year, the Ministry of Magic sends over an Auror to adminster the exams for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Myrtle had managed to teach primarily from telling stories and having students like Hermione and I demonstrate the actual spells. This proved little different from classes with Lockhart, except that Myrtle was more amusing. 

And then, the final rounds of the Dueling Club tournament take place on the last Saturday in the year. For the semi-finals, we have Theodore facing off with Ernie MacMillan, and myself versus Hermione. 

"Go, Ernie!" Ron calls out as the two of them step up to the stage. "You show them! Dumbledore's Army will succeed!" 

"I don't know if Dumbledore would entirely approve of you using his name like that," I point out, but Ron ignores me. 

Theodore is a lot better than most people give him credit for. He has a downplayed subtlety and finesse. He never shows off, or makes any flashy, unnecessary moves, and yet he succeeds nonetheless. Ernie hardly knows what hit him. 

Then, Hermione and I step up onto the stage. Much as I hate to admit it, Hermione is already way better than me at magic in general. However, she's made her way through this tournament off pure skill and not actual combat prowess. Perhaps I can find a way to defeat her through that advantage. Either way, however, this is going to be one tough fight. 

I start off on the offensive, but she smoothly counters every curse I cast, and returns swiftly with a volley of spells of her own. That's a problem. She can cast _faster_ than me, too. She just plain knows the spells better. I barely manage to dodge and counter every curse she flings at me in that batch. 

" _Frigipes!_ " Hermione casts, and suddenly the floor beneath my feet is cold and slick as ice. I barely manage to maintain my balance, but she quickly takes advantage of the momentary distraction. " _Tarantallegra!_ " My feet start dancing on their own, causing me to slip and fall on the slick surface. " _Expelliarmus!_ " And then my wand goes flying out of my hand. 

"Match goes to Granger," Snape says, canceling the spells with a wave of his wand. 

"Good job, Hermione," I say, standing up and giving her a bow. I go back to take a seat with the others, feeling a little dejected. I had really expected to win. Am I not good enough? I guess I still have a long way to go yet. 

There's a short break before the next match, and then Theodore and Hermione face off on stage. Me, I'm just trying not to sulk over here. I should be proud of Hermione. Reasonably, logically, I tell myself that. But I just can't quite get over the feeling that _I lost_. I mentally sigh and make myself run through an Occlumency exercise, sending my anger and resentment into the raging storm of emotions around my mind. 

"Match goes to Nott," Snape says. Damn, I wasn't even paying attention the duel. "And that concludes this year's Hogwarts Dueling Club tournament. The title of second year Hogwarts dueling champion goes to Theodore Nott! One hundred points to Slytherin for the victory." 

"You did well, Hermione," Theodore is saying as they leave the stage. "You made it all the way to the finals." 

"I did well, for a Mudblood?" Hermione replies. 

"I didn't say that," Theodore says. "You're the best witch in our year, hands down." 

Hermione just beams at that. 

At the end of year feast, Slytherin is awarded the House Cup. I'd love to go over there and celebrate with them, but I content myself with shooting off green sparks from my wand, and having half of the Gryffindors glaring at me and grumbling. 

* * *

As we gather up onto the Hogwarts Express, I'm nervous and excited. We're laying a trap for Lockhart. I'm just terrified that everything is going to wind up going horribly wrong. Again. 

"So, is everyone ready?" I ask. I'm sharing a compartment with Hermione, Neville, and Theodore. 

"I'm still not sure about this," Hermione says. "What are we going to do to him if we can catch him?" 

"Kill him," I say fiercely. "If you're feeling squeamish, don't worry about it. I'll finish him myself." 

"Can't we just turn him in and get him sent to prison?" Hermione wonders. 

"The Ministry isn't going to recognize his crimes," Theodore says. "He has everyone fooled well enough." 

"I'm more worried about getting caught," Neville says. "Won't someone realize that he's missing?" 

"Maybe we should send a letter to the _Daily Prophet_ or something," Theodore says. "Tell them that Lockhart is going on a world tour before retiring quietly to an undisclosed location to get out of the spotlight." 

"Good idea," I say. 

"And then there's the fact that we're not supposed to use magic over the summer," Hermione says. 

"That's why Neville's grandmother is coming along," I say. "We talked about this before. We aren't going to get in any trouble if there's an adult wizard around. It's just _unsupervised_ magic that would be problematic." 

"You mean everyone else can practice their magic over the summer?" Hermione says. "It seems to me like that law is mostly just discrimination against Muggleborns..." 

"Pretty much, yeah," Theodore says, shrugging. 

"My gran doesn't even _let_ me practice over the summer," Neville says. 

"Well, you're both welcome to come visit my place after this is over," Theodore says. "My father doesn't care what I do." 

The Hogwarts Express pulls into Kings Cross Station, and we disembark. Augusta Longbottom is there to greet us on the magical side of the barrier. 

"There you are, Neville," Augusta says. "These are your friends? Ah, the Potter boy. I'm glad you finally came to your senses and broke off your association with those awful Malfoys. Come along, children. Let's get your things. The Grangers are waiting for us outside." 

One we collect our trunks, we head out past the barrier. Hermione's parents are casually loitering nearby, and they wave to us when they spot us. We head over toward them. 

"It's so nice that Hermione has made so many friends in school," says Mrs. Granger. "Come along. Our car is parked nearby." 

"Muggle contraptions," Augusta mutters when she gets a look at the vehicle. "Are you certain that this thing is safe?" 

"It's got to be safer than the car I hear the Weasleys have," I say. This one is a different shape, painted dark blue and with a sliding door on the side. 

"It'll probably be a tight fit, though," Mr. Weasley says. "I don't know where we're going to put all the trunks. It's a good thing we've got a minivan, though." 

"Oh," Augusta says. "Why didn't you say so? One moment." She glances around to make sure that no one is looking, and shrinks down our trunks to where they'll fit in our pockets. 

"Thanks, Gran," Neville says, pocketing his miniature trunk. 

The seven of us proceed to pile into the vehicle. We all manage to fit without the use of magic, but there wouldn't really be room for anyone else. 

"I suppose this isn't so bad," Augusta admits as we ride off. 

The Granger household is a strange place. I've never been in an actual Muggle house before. Everything just feels a little bit wrong. 

"Hmm," Augusta says, looking around the place. "Acceptable. Where should I put my things?" 

"We have two spare rooms," Mr. Granger says. "I suppose you can have one and we can put the boys in the other. I'm afraid they don't have actual beds in them, however. I hope you don't mind a hideaway, Mrs. Longbottom." 

"A what?" Augusta wonders. 

When the adults wander upstairs, I say, "Alright. Let's get started. We need to put protections over every possible entrance to the house." 

"All of the windows, too?" Hermione says. 

"He could sneak in anywhere," I say. "I don't want to leave him any possible easy avenue." 

"Are we to be prisoners in my home, then?" Hermione wonders. 

"Certainly not," I say. "The protections are only really needed so we can sleep in peace. When we're awake and alert, we can defend each other. We just need to make sure never to go anywhere alone." 

"I don't like living like this," Hermione says. 

"I know," I say wearily. "Neither do I. But we will live, nonetheless." 

Everything is in place. Wards and charms and contingency spells. The best that four children who have just finished their second year can manage, and then some. Come on, Lockhart, you bastard. Come and step into my trap. 

* * *

It's hard to sleep at night in these unfamiliar surroundings, not the least of which because I'm so nervous and excited. Our transfigured blankets aren't nearly as comfortable as the beds in the Gryffindor dormitory, but that's not my main problem. If I let myself, I'll stay awake nervously waiting for Lockhart to show up until I pass out from exhaustion. 

Hermione tries to distract me and cheer me up a bit by finally showing me the _Star Wars_ movies and the _Dragonlance_ books. I'm still not quite clear on the concept of this all being 'fiction', but I can see now why she would be concerned about my parentage. 

One night, a week into summer holiday, I wake to a strange sensation. Someone has crossed the boundaries of the household wards. Either Lockhart, or some random burglar. It doesn't matter, they shouldn't be here regardless. I wake Neville and Theodore. 

"Is he here?" Theodore whispers. 

"Let's get him," Neville says. 

We quietly step out into the hallway and stand side by side. At the end of the hall, there's a corner that leads down to the stairs. We managed a pretty clever contingency spell on the patch of carpet there. When someone steps on it at night, it will light up. It doesn't need to be able to detect someone that's invisible, just realize that something stepped on it. And, sure enough, after a minute, it lights up with seemingly nothing standing on top of it. 

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cast. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " casts Neville. 

" _Stupefy!_ " casts Theodore. 

Lightning strikes nothing, a wand goes flying, and something thumps to the ground. 

"Ambush successful, motherfucker," I mutter, going over to poke at the invisible object and pull off the cloak. Sure enough, there's Lockhart, unconscious on the glowing floor. I stuff the cloak back into my bag. I'm not letting that thing out of my sight again. 

I'm thankful that we thought to put charms to dampen sound over everyone's doors, on the excuse of making it easier to sleep for being quieter. It wouldn't do to have Augusta Longbottom interrupt a murder, after all. 

" _Mobilicorpus_ ," I say, levitating Lockhart's body downstairs. "No more games. It's time to put an end to this once and for all." 

"You're really scary when you're angry," Neville comments. 

"Yes, I fucking am," I say. " _Fulgoris!_ " Lightning shoots through Lockhart's body. " _Fulgoris! Fulgoris! FULGORIS!_ " I pour all of my rage and hate into the curse. I find myself giggling a little giddily at the sensation of casting the spell. My blood boils in anger, and my mind is a furious storm. 

"I think you can stop now, Stormseeker," Theodore says quietly. 

Neville is looking at me wide-eyed, as if I've just transformed into a monster before his eyes. As I let out another uncontrollable giggle, I have to wonder if I _have_. I pant softly, putting my hands on my knees, and look down at the floor, trying to center myself again. 

"Alright," I say. "Alright..." 

Theodore pokes over Lockhart's body, relieving him of his possessions in addition to the wand that he already picked up. Me, I'm still reeling with the sensation of almost losing myself to the thrill of murdering someone with dark magic. If I mere Lightning Curse could do this to me, what would the Unforgiveable Curses be like? I'm not sure that I want to continue that line of thought. 

"He came after all?" says Hermione's voice, coming down the stairs. "I was kind of hoping that he'd prove you wrong and stay away... but I guess you were right after all..." 

"So... What are we going to do with the body?" Neville asks. 

"Give me a moment," I say, sitting down and putting my face in my hands, gathering myself. 

I don't want to be a monster. Lockhart made himself my enemy, but I should not have enjoyed killing him so much. I find myself trembling, and tears come to my eyes unbidden. 

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, Gilderoy," I whisper. "We could have been friends, had things been different." But it was my own choices that led me to this path. There are always choices. Always. 

"Are you alright?" Neville asks. 

"No," I reply, shaking uncontrollably. "No, I'm not. Fuck." 

I'm only fourteen, and my list of things I will never do again is already far longer than I would like it to be. 

"I'm a monster," I murmur. "I'm a horrible person. I won't blame any of you if you decide to hate me for this. I just murdered someone. I just fucking murdered someone..." 

Hermione comes up and puts her hand on my shoulder. I glance up at her, and see that there are tears in her eyes as well. "I don't blame you," she says. "You... you were trying to protect me. I suppose I should feel, I don't know, honored or something that someone is willing to kill for me. But... you're not a monster if you can still feel bad about it, even if it was necessary." 

For a fleeting moment, I consider killing myself. Going back to earlier tonight, and doing this over. I could stun Lockhart, and make him promise to leave me and my friends alone. Tell him to go away and never come back. When it comes down to it, I don't really care what he claims. I just want my friends to be safe. But I dismiss the thought. He would never agree to it. He might still attack me and my friends anyway. And most importantly... I'm not going to abandon the people here carelessly. 

"We should take care of the body," Theodore says softly. "Before someone else happens to wake up." 

"You're right," I say, sighing. "Let's... let's just take it out back and burn it." 

We take him out onto the back patio and all cast _Incendio_ at the body until there is nothing left of him but ashes, and then _Scourgify_ what's left of that. And that's that. Still, I don't think any of us is going to be getting any more sleep tonight. 

True friends help you dispose of the bodies, I suppose. But it's a heavy weight on my heart realizing what I've asked of them. This was too much to ask of thirteen year old children, I think. They're not ready for this. Abyss, _I'm_ not ready for this. 

"Was this all a mistake?" I ask quietly. 

"I've been telling you that for months," Hermione says. 

"It had to be done," Theodore says. 

"He had it coming to him," Neville says. 

I step out from under the awning and look up at the sky. The moonless sky is clear tonight, but it's hard to see the stars with all the lights in the city. It's not like Hogwarts, where you can see _everything_ on a clear night. Still, what stars I can see are a bit of a comfort to me. Tiny sparks of hope in the darkness of the night. 

"Sometimes I feel like all I'm really left with are regrets piling up on top of regrets," I say distantly. "When you live a life just forward, without any deviations backward or to the sides, you can't really think too much about what might have been, what could have been. You're fixed in your course. You can't change the past. You might idly wish that you could have done something differently, but you know you can't, and you move on." 

"Stormseeker..." Hermione murmurs. 

I shake my head. "I dwell on it," I say. "I can never shake the _could have beens_. Every mistake, everything wrong that happens, everything I could have done differently, it weighs on me. It scars my very soul." 

"You can't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong," Neville says. 

"Can't I?" I demand. 

"You can't control _everything_ ," Neville says. 

"Perhaps not," I say. "But I can control _myself_. I can make my own choices and choose my own path. And it was my own choices that led me to this point. I just... I don't know how I can live with them, sometimes..." 

I wish Draco were here. I wish he were still my friend. I could really use him about now. He'd verbally kick my ass until I stopped brooding about it all. Imagining what he'd tell me, I have to chuckle softly. I think my friends must imagine that I've finally gone mad. 

I turn around and look at the three of them, the best friends anyone could hope for. "But I will live for you," I say softly. "I'd say I'd die for you, but that's meaningless to me. Living is much more difficult." 

"You don't have to do that, Stormseeker..." Hermione says. 

"I did it all for you," I say. "All three of you. And Luna, and Rispy, and Dean, and all of our friends." 

I feel better now. The moment of despair has passed. So long as I do everything purely for the sake of those I care about, I cannot go wrong. I can live with myself, for that, no matter where that path may take me. Mere survival is not the highest cause a man can strive for.


	52. Coming Shadows

We go to stay with Neville and his grandmother for the remainder of the summer. Neither he nor Hermione wanted to stay at the Grangers' place for even one day longer, after Lockhart's death. Theodore was less obviously bothered by it, and he almost seemed to not even want to go home, so he came along with us to the Longbottoms'. 

One day, while the three of us are working on our summer homework, the fireplace flares green and Draco steps out. 

"Draco?" I wonder, looking over to him in surprise. "What are you doing here?" 

"I... I want us to be friends again," Draco stammers. 

"I thought your father didn't want you associating with me anymore," I say. 

"He... he doesn't," Draco says, looking at the floor. "He doesn't even know I'm here." 

I find myself a little stunned. "I told you I didn't expect you to choose me over your family," I say quietly. "I didn't want to force you to have to make that sort of decision." 

Draco shakes his head. I've never seen him this nervous before. Is he honestly terrified of me, and just trying to hide his fear? "It's not right, you know?" he replies. "And I don't even understand why this all happened in the first place. We had that nasty argument over Easter and all, but we've been through worse things, haven't we?" 

I exchange a look with my other friends. "Draco, what exactly do you remember?" Hermione asks. 

"About what?" Draco says. 

"Anything," I add. "What was that argument even about? What happened on the day we met?" 

"I'm not sure what you mean about the day we met," Draco says. "It was a long time ago, but I don't remember anything special happening then. The argument over Easter, that was about my father not wanting me to associate with Mudbloods. You got upset about it, and he wouldn't believe that Hermione is really Ravenclaw's secret heir. You wound up storming out of the place in a huff. Why, don't you remember that?" 

"I see," I say. That must have been Dumbledore's handiwork. 

"Are you afraid that your memories have been modified or something?" Draco wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

"No," I say. "But _yours_ have been." 

" _What?_ " Draco demands. 

"There's more going on here than you realize," I say. "But are you certain that you want to go back down this path again? I really miss having you as my friend, and I know you didn't break it off by choice, but you have to be sure of this." 

"Oh, come on," Draco says. "Do you seriously expect me to say _no_?" 

I chuckle softly. "Alright, Draco. Let's go pay a visit to Dumbledore. And more importantly, his Pensieve. This, you have to see for yourself." 

Draco nods, and the two of us step through the Floo to Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster is currently at his desk, scribbling diligently at a piece of parchment, no doubt performing work for one of his many jobs. 

"Sorry to interrupt, Headmaster," I say. "Do you mind if we use your Pensieve for a bit?" 

"Are you certain that this is wise, my boy?" Dumbledore says, looking dubiously at Draco. "Remember what happened before." 

"That wasn't his fault, and you know it," I say. "He's come back to me now, of his own free will and against his father's wishes, despite everything that happened, and despite not knowing the whole story. That's got to count for something." 

Dumbledore sighs. "Very well. Go ahead, if you are certain of this. I'll be here when you're finished if you require any Obliviation." 

I go up to the Pensieve and pull out some choice memories to put inside. That fateful day in Diagon Alley when I accidentally spilled out my secrets. Quirrell being arrested. Telling him who I am. What really happened in the Chamber of Secrets, and the aftermath in the hospital wing. Scenes from the week that followed, when we realized Lockhart was Obliviating people, and the terrible realization that he'd gotten the Malfoys, too. The argument at Easter... 

The two of us enter the Pensieve and start to view the memories. "This will probably be pretty long," I say. "So I apologize for that. But I didn't want to leave out anything important." 

"It's alright," Draco says. But that's the last thing he manages to say for a while as we watch the memories. He goes speechless, gaping, as the scenes unfold before us. By the time we get to Easter, he's actually visibly shaking. 

When the Pensieve memories end, we emerge back into the Headmaster's office. Draco sits down heavily in the nearest chair, putting his face in his hands and trembling. He can't actually be crying, is he? 

"Draco, are you alright?" I ask gently. 

"It's a lot to take in," Draco replies. "This is all real? This all really happened?" 

"Indeed," Dumbledore says, looking up from his desk again. "I can remove my own Memory Charm if you like, but I fear I cannot undue the damage Lockhart did to you. Alternatively, I can make you forget this all again and you can go back to blissfully not knowing the truth." 

Draco shakes his head quickly. "No, no, no," he says. "No way. I don't want to forget. I wish Lockhart had never done what he did. I would rather remember everything as it really happened. Merlin..." 

Dumbledore obligingly pulls out his wand and waves it over Draco, muttering a few words. "That should do the trick," Dumbledore says. "How do you feel?" 

"Horrified," Draco replies. "Harry-- Lexen-- Stormseeker-- can we go back to the others now?" 

"I'm sure Dumbledore would like to get back to work," I say, bowing to Dumbledore. "Sorry for taking up your valuable time." 

"It's quite alright, my boy," Dumbledore says. "Run along now and enjoy your summer holiday. Do feel free to contact me if you need anything else." 

Back through the Floo, the two of us return to the Longbottom estate. Draco is still in a bit of a daze, as if not sure what to think of this all. I imagine that this must be really hard for him. 

"Merlin," Draco breathes. "And the rest of you know about this all already?" 

"Yeah," Neville says. "My gran doesn't, though. She's upstairs right now." 

" _Muffliato_ ," Hermione casts. "And she's not going to, either. We don't want her overhearing anything." 

Draco sits down across from the others, still looking at the floor. "There's something I should tell you all, first," he says. "I lied." 

"About?" I ask. 

"My father actually sent me here," Draco says, looking shameful. "He wanted me to... infiltrate your group again." 

"I can see why," Theodore says. 

"Look, I'm sorry," Draco says. "I didn't know. I didn't really know what was going on. I suppose I can be a double agent or something. Can I?" 

I'm looking at him with a touch of hurt and disappointment, but I say, "Of course, Draco. I'm not going to turn you away. You're my friend, and I always considered you my friend, even when we weren't really speaking." 

"Has Theodore told you what things have been like in Slytherin House ever since Easter?" Draco says. "Even Crabbe and Goyle would rather be your lackeys than mine, but they just stuck with me anyway out of loyalty!" 

"Because the Stormseeker treats them with respect, and not as lackeys at all," Theodore says. "Personally, I don't want to be _anyone's_ lackey, or join anyone's gang. But actual friends? That's something else entirely." 

"He's a crazy Gryffindor who would die for any of us without a second thought," Draco says, shaking his head. "Barmy, I say. A real nutter." He chuckles softly. "And I owe you a bloody life debt because of it, too." 

"You know I don't really expect anything of you because of that," I say. 

"Because you're _such_ a bloody Gryffindor sometimes," Draco says. 

"Although there _is_ one thing I could use from you," I say. "Your verbal ass-kicking to keep me from moping when everything doesn't go perfectly. Or even when it does sometimes." 

"Ugh, yes, you're bad about that sometimes," Draco says. 

"No kidding," Theodore agrees. "You should have seen him after we murdered Lockhart." 

"Wait," Draco says. "You murdered Lockhart?" 

" _He_ murdered Lockhart," Hermione says. "Although the rest of us helped to capture him and dispose of the body afterward." 

"Damn, I'm sorry I missed that," Draco says. "And the world just thinks he went off again to the middle of nowhere like usual... You guys are brilliant." 

"Theodore gets the credit for that idea," I say. 

"Yeah, that seemed a little too Slytherin for the rest of you," Draco says. "I bet _you_ didn't even think about the consequences." 

"Not really," I admit. "I just wanted the fucking bastard dead. Especially when he dared to come try to attack Hermione." 

"It was the perfect trap," Theodore says. "He wouldn't have expected any defenses in a Muggle home." 

"I would have been helpless..." Hermione murmurs. 

Draco's face contorts in anger. "I should have been there," he says. "Damn him. Trying to break up our group like that. Never again." 

I nod in agreement. "I don't want to let anything like that happen again." 

"Look, I ought to get back to my father and tell him that I was successful in infiltrating your group again," Draco says. "Can you ask Mrs. Longbottom if I can stay here for the rest of the summer? I... really don't think I want to be around my father much at the moment, and I can convince him that it's all to, you know, solidify my position again, or something." 

"I'll ask her," Neville says. "I don't know if she'll agree, though." 

"Just tell her that he had a disagreement with his father," I say. "Which is sort of true." 

"Alright," Neville says. "I suppose I can make this sound sympathetic." 

"For the record," Draco says. "I normally wouldn't like to be opposing my father like this. But he honestly has no idea what's really going on, and it's probably safer all around if he never does. I know that he would, and did, support you when he knew all the facts, however." 

* * *

"SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN!" proclaims the _Daily Prophet_ , accompanied a picture of a scruffy-looking fellow that appears to be quite mad. At least this story is more news-worthy than the recent bit about the Weasleys winning some sort of prize and blowing it on a trip to Egypt. 

"Have you seen this yet, Hermione?" I ask across the Longbottom's dining room. 

"Someone escaped from Azkaban?" Hermione says, looking over. "Nobody's ever escaped from there! It's guarded by Dementors!" 

"What's a Dementor?" I ask. 

"I read about them!" Hermione says. "They sounded like really horrible creatures. They feed on happiness." 

"That's awful," I say. "I wonder what this Sirius Black did to deserve getting thrown in such a place." And I got Quirrell sent there for a crime so petty as illegal dragon trafficking? Considering he was possessed by the Dark Lord, I can't really feel too bad about it, though. 

"You don't know, Harry?" Augusta says gently, coming over to us. 

I shake my head. "Should I?" 

"He was the one who betrayed your parents, you know," Augusta says. "He's the reason why You-Know-Who was able to find them." 

I frown deeply, and look at the picture of the bedraggled escapee again. "He's the reason my parents are dead?" 

"And he murdered thirteen Muggles with a single curse," Hermione adds. 

Augusta nods. "But not to worry. You'll be safe at Hogwarts, I'm sure." 

"It would seem kind of strange if he waited this long to come and try to finish the job," I say. 

There are times that I hate being Harry Potter. My friends are giving me horrified looks. _They_ know I'm not actually Harry Potter. But Augusta doesn't know that. And more importantly, neither does Sirius Black. 

"That's a morbid thought, dear," Augusta says. "Don't you worry about it. The Aurors will catch him and put him away again in no time." 

I sigh softly. Well, it would hardly be the first time someone has tried to kill me. I'll just have to keep an eye out for my friends to make sure they don't wind up getting caught in the crossfire. 

"Well, if he tries anything, I'll hex the pants off of him," Draco says. 

"There are probably other hexes that would be more useful to use, however," Theodore says with a crooked grin. 

Augusta was dubious about Draco at first, but she softened up a bit after seeing him around us. He's been giving Neville pointers on his dueling and wandwork, and while Neville still isn't going to be winning any championships, he's still slowly improving. 

Our trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies is tense, with an air of fear and caution about the place. Augusta Longbottom as well as Neville's Uncle Algie accompany us to watch over us and keep us safe. Luna and her father have also joined us for the trip. Augusta muttered something about "safety in numbers", but Xenophilius Lovegood seems to be just as eccentric as his daughter. 

"I wonder who's going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," Neville says. 

I don't know, either. Dumbledore didn't send me any letters asking for my opinion this time. Probably because my judgment call last time proved to be really, really bad. Things wouldn't have gone so wrong if I hadn't antagonized Lockhart from the start, and I made the fatal mistake of underestimating him. 

"Did you know Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman in disguise?" Luna asks us. 

"Should I know who that is?" I ask. 

"He was the lead single for a band called the Hobgoblins," Luna says. "But he retired after having a turnip thrown at him during a concert." 

"I see," I say. I have no idea what else to say about that. 

"I'm surprised your father let you come here with us, Draco," Hermione says. 

Draco shrugs. "I guess he figures I'll be safe enough. It's not like I've been hanging around him all summer, anyway. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?" 

"Don't say things like that," I say, groaning. 

"Say, look at that broom!" Draco says, drawn to the Quidditch shop as though it had a Summoning Charm on it. "The Firebolt... Wow, I wish I had one of those." 

"Didn't your father buy you a brand new broom last year?" I say. 

"Well... yeah..." Draco says. "But that was last year!" 

"Come on," Hermione says. "We've got books to buy." 

"Alright, alright," Draco says. "If Ravenclaw's secret heir wants to buy books, then buy books we shall." 

"I've got to get books for Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes," I say. "What electives did the rest of you decide upon?" 

"I really wanted to take them all, you know," Hermione says. "But I thought it would be best to stick to a schedule that didn't require time travel or something just to get to all my classes. So I'm taking the same ones." 

I snicker softly. "Good idea. I know I'll have my plate full with the three I have." 

"I went with Care of Magical Creatures and Divination," Neville says. 

"Divination's nothing but hogwash," Draco says. "I've got Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes as well. If I were you, I'd drop Divination and swap it out for something better." 

"I don't know how good I'd be with Ancient Runes," Neville says. 

"Never know unless you try it," Draco says. "Runes are really useful things to know. I'd bet you'd be good at it, actually." 

"You really think so?" Neville says. 

"I'll stake a galleon on it," Draco says. 

"Is anyone seriously going to take that bet?" Theodore says. 

"I don't gamble," I say, chuckling. "But I agree with Draco, regardless." 

"Well, alright," Neville says. "If you really think so, I'll switch my schedule." 

"I'm very interested in taking Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures," Luna says. "But sadly, I won't be able to start until next year." 

We head into Flourish and Blotts to collect the books we'll need. I don't see any of the books we'll need for Care of Magical Creatures on the shelves, so I approach the manager. "Excuse me, sir," I say. "We need five copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters_." 

The man visibly pales a bit, and goes to pull on some very thick gloves. "Just a moment," he says. He approaches a cage full of snarling books that seem to actively be trying to bite their way out. "I'm never stocking these things again! It's worse than when we got all those copies of _The Invisible Book of Invisibility_ that we could never find afterward!" 

He wrestles one of the books out, and starts to hand it over to me, but Luna snatches it away before I can take it and starts stroking it like a kitten. 

"Be careful with that!" the man says. "Wait, it calmed down?" 

"The poor things are just agitated," Luna says, handing the now-purring book to me. "I think they like being stroked down the spine." 

The man reaches in and pulls out another, and tries that. The book promptly calms down. "Huh, well I'll be." He offers the book to her. "You're a life saver, girl. This one's free for you." 

"Oh, I'm only a second year," Luna says. "I don't get to take Care of Magical Creatures until next year." 

"Well, take it anyway," the manager says. "I've got too many of these things as it is." 

"Thank you, sir," Luna says, taking the book and cradling it in her arms, absently petting it a bit. 

Once we've got our books, we head back out to the alley again. Hermione says, "My parents gave me some money to buy an early birthday present for myself. I was thinking I might get a pet. Harry's got his owl Solomon, and Neville has his toad Trevor, but I don't have one yet. What do you think of a cat?" 

"Maybe get one that's part Kneazle," Draco suggests. "Those are really smart." 

We head off to a nearby shop selling magical creatures, with a sign outside that says "Magical Menagerie". There's quite a variety of beasts being offered within. Luna quietly goes off to stare thoughtfully at some of them. 

"Maybe I can pick up something for Trevor while we're in here," Neville says. 

We're not alone in the shop, however. Ron Weasley, of all people, is here, apparently picking up some tonic for his rat Scabbers, who is on the table looking in at a cage full of black rats. 

"An ordinary non-magical rat can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," the woman at the counter is telling him. 

"I don't really know how old he is," Ron says. "He used to belong to my brother." 

Suddenly, like an orange flash, something large and furry zips toward the rat, spitting and hissing all the way. 

"No, Crookshanks!" cries the woman, trying to grab the feline. 

"Scabbers!" Ron shouts, racing after the panicking rat. 

"What _was_ that?" Neville says, staring wide-eyed at where they were. 

"I think it must have been a bobcat," I say absently. 

Draco is laughing aloud. "I like that cat," Draco says. "If you don't want that one, Hermione, I'll buy it for myself!" 

"He's gorgeous!" Hermione says. "I'll take him." 

The woman, having finally caught the cat again, looks surprised. "Really? Poor Crookshanks has been here a long time. I was starting to think no one was ever going to buy him, and now two people in one day are clamoring for him?" 

Hermione counts out some coins, and take the enormous ginger cat off of her hands. Beaming, Hermione heads out of the shop. 

Before we leave, Luna asks the woman at the counter, "How much for the wolpertinger?" 

"The what?" the woman replies, raising an eyebrow. 

Luna points at an apparently empty cage. "The wolpertinger sitting in this cage." 

"I don't see anything there," the woman replies. 

"Well, of course not," Luna says. "Most people can't see them unless they're intoxicated." 

"Are you saying you're drunk, Luna?" I say. 

"Only in the permanent sort of way," Luna replies. 

The woman snorts softly. "Maybe the old man picked it up while drinking too much at the Leaky Cauldron." 

After the woman figures out a price, Luna passes over some coins and takes the apparently empty cage. "Thank you," Luna says. "He's adorable." 

"A pity I'm too sober to see him, then," I say, chuckling. 

"And you are not getting drunk at your age, young man," Augusta says, poking her head into the conversation. "Come on, let's get going." 

"Yes, Gran," I murmur, following after her. 

* * *

The first of September arrives, and we pile onto the Hogwarts Express for another year of school. I'm excited about starting third year. A lot of this stuff will actually be _new_ to me. While I've read ahead, I have no doubt that there will be plenty of things to learn. And I don't even have to worry about hiding my skill or lack thereof anymore, either. 

Theodore, Luna, and Neville take one compartment, and Draco, Hermione, and I take the one right across the corridor from them. The one we get stuck with isn't unoccupied, however, but there aren't any others. There's a man asleep in this one, and after a moment, I recognize him as Remus Lupin! 

"Who is that?" Draco wonders quietly. "Looks like he could use some new robes." 

"R. J. Lupin, apparently," Hermione says, pointing to his briefcase. 

"Remus Lupin," I murmur brightly. "He was a friend of my parents. Dumbledore told me about him." 

"He must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Hermione says. 

"Wonder if he's any good," Draco says. 

"He's brilliant, I hear," I say, winking at them knowingly. 

It's a beautiful day, so I open up the window and lean out a little to smell the sunshine and fresh air, and watch the countryside fly by when we get moving. 

"And we'll get to visit Hogsmeade this year, too," Hermione is saying. "I'm so excited!" 

"Eh, it's just Hogsmeade," Draco says. "But I suppose it'll be nice to get out of the castle occasionally." 

"Did you get anyone to sign your permission form, Stormseeker?" Hermione asks. 

"Dumbledore sent me one already signed," I say. "He's technically my guardian, after all." I snort softly. "Of course, he sent it along with a letter commenting that I'd probably sneak out anyway if he didn't." 

"He knows you too well," Draco says, snickering. 

Before arriving at Hogwarts, however, the train comes to an unexpected stop, and total darkness encompasses the compartment. I pull out my wand, thankful that I always keep it in easy reach, and murmur, " _Lumos_. What's going on?" The light from my wand seems like a faint little candle in the midst of the Void. 

"Stay here," Remus says, suddenly awake and heading for the door. 

But there's something in the doorway. A creature in a black cloak. I almost think it's a man for a moment, but then I realize that it's very definitely _not_ human. 

There's a terrible feeling, an oppressive cold, surrounding me, choking me in darkness. A despair so deep that I feel like happiness could never penetrate it. Everything suddenly seems hopeless, everything I've done seems pointless. I hear a distant screaming, and with a horrific sense of dread, I know in my heart that I will never be able to save them. 

Reflexively, I find myself scrambling to try to get away, as though my body is doing it on its own. My mind certainly isn't in any state to want to bother. What does it matter if I die, anyway? Maybe the world would be better off without me. I'm just the immortal brat that screws everything up. 

There's an opening in front of me. The window. An escape route. Acting on purely animal instincts, I grab at the edges of the window and plunge myself through. Anything to get away. 

I go tumbling out of the train and land head-first on the hard ground, and I know no more. 

* * *

I wake, shuddering uncontrollably. I'm in my bed at the Longbottom estate. Damn, I must have died. What in the Abyss _was_ that thing? Was the train attacked? Somehow, I feel like I got off good just falling out a window and breaking my neck. 

The worst of it is that, even after dying, I still feel like I've been drained of all hope and joy, tapped out like a barrel spilling out all over the floor. I don't even want to get up. I just want to curl up in bed and wait for the world to go away. What does it really matter if I go to school or not? 

"Stormseeker!" Neville's voice is calling. " _Stormseeker!_ Come on, we're going to miss the train!" 

I grumble something and pull my pillow over my head. After a minute, Draco comes in and is literally dragging me out of bed. "I don't know what you're moping about today, you big lump of angst, but we've got to go! You already missed breakfast as it is." 

"I don't want to," I mutter. 

"What's wrong with you this morning?" Draco wonders. "Did something happen? Did you die again?" 

I nod reflexively. "Train... was attacked... black thing in cloak... cold, so cold..." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco says. "Let's get you dressed and get to the train, at least. Unless you're trying to warn me that we're all going to die or something?" 

"Don't know," I say, shaking my head. "I broke my neck falling out the window trying to get away." 

"Figures," Draco says, helping me get dressed. 

I reluctantly let myself get dragged along to Kings Cross Station, and we wind up taking a seat with Remus Lupin again. I mutter something about him absently, and then curl up in the corner of the compartment. 

"Stormseeker, you didn't eat any breakfast," Hermione says. "You should at least have something off the trolley." 

"Here," Draco says. "Cauldron Cakes and Chocolate Frogs, your favorites. Eat up, or I'll force feed you." 

"Alright, alright," I mumble, and nibble on a Chocolate Frog. The oppressive despair has been slowly, slowly fading ever since I woke up, but the sweets help to put it behind me, like a warmth spreading through my body and dispelling the soul-chilling cold. And yet, I know that it's still ahead of me, too. 

"Feeling better, Stormseeker?" Draco asks. 

I nod. "For the moment, at least," I say. I glance to the window. At least it's closed now, and I won't wind up falling out of it to my doom. But will I survive the attack on the train? " _Colloportus_ ," I murmur, pointing my wand at the door to lock it. 

"You think that'll help?" Draco says. 

"Don't know," I say, glancing uneasily at Remus. If there's anyone I want to let in on my secret, the time travel bit at least, it's probably him. But I'm not sure about it as yet, so I still want to be careful what I say around him. 

Sure enough, later into the journey, the train stops and is thrust into pitch blackness again. I shudder as I feel it start to press down upon me. I know I should probably fight, but how can I fight these things? 

"You should stay here," Remus says, standing up. "I'll go--" 

My Locking Charm breaks, and this time, there are not one, but _three_ shadowy cloaked figures standing in the doorway. All thought of trying to fight flees from my mind. What's the point? I'm about to die. I can't fight these things. I let myself slip down into the darkness. 

Then, a faint flicker of light, and my eyes open again. "You still have some of those Chocolate Frogs? Here, eat one. The rest of you, too." 

I don't care to argue, and just nibble on the chocolate numbly. I start to feel better immediately, and look up to see Remus distributing more chocolate to my friends in the compartment across the corridor. 

"What were those awful things?" I ask. 

"Those were Dementors, Harry," Remus says. "Or should I say 'Stormseeker'?" 

"I'd like that," I say quietly, with a faint grin. 

"Damn, Stormseeker, you actually fainted," Draco says. "I didn't realize..." He glances aside at Remus and trails off, leaving the rest unsaid, but I know what he means. 

"Finish up your chocolate, kids," Remus says. "I need to check to make sure the other students are alright." He heads off down the train. 

"They were looking for Sirius Black," Hermione says, shuddering. "It's one thing to read about something in a book, but actually being in front of it is something else entirely." 

"That's what I keep telling you, Hermione," Draco says. 

When we arrive at Hogwarts, it does not make me happy _at all_ to discover that they've surrounded the school with Dementors. Is this really supposed to protect us? All thoughts of actually enjoying the upcoming school year fly out of my head.


	53. Beginning Third Year

I kind of want to have a talk with Remus before classes start, but I find myself dragged to the hospital wing for a quick checkup straight off the train. This makes me miss the Sorting Ceremony, but at least I make it back in time for the Opening Feast. 

Glancing around for my friends, I see Neville, Hermione, and Luna sitting at the Slytherin table again with Draco, Theodore, and the rest. Chuckling softly to myself, I head over to join them. 

"There you are, Stormseeker," Draco says. "Didn't think you'd willingly miss out on dessert." 

"So, you lot are back at this table, are you?" Gemma says. "Make up over the summer, I take it? I hope there's not going to be anymore trouble. It doesn't look good if Slytherin doesn't present a united front." 

"Definitely not," Draco says. "And it was all that Mudblood bastard Lockhart's fault, anyway." 

"Nothing will break up Storm Army!" I declare. "Not him or anyone else." 

"Glad to hear it," Gemma says. "You've done a remarkable thing, Stormseeker. You've brought people from all the houses together under a single banner. You'll go far in life, I'm sure of it. I'm almost sad that this will be my last year. I'd really like to see where you go." 

"Oh, you don't _have_ to leave, Gemma!" Flint says from across the table. 

"Flint?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were a seventh year last year." 

"I was," Flint replies. "And I'm a seventh year again this year!" 

"How's that working out for you?" I ask. 

"Pretty good," Flint says. "I get to captain the Quidditch team for another year." 

"If you paid more attention to your classes and less to Quidditch, you wouldn't have done so abysmally on your NEWTs," Gemma says. 

"Ah, but how could I resist spending another year with your charming self?" Flint says, batting his eyelashes. 

"Stow it, Flint," Gemma says, rolling her eyes. "And you still can't grow a proper beard." 

"Can so," Flint says. "Hey, Stormseeker! Hit me with that jinx again!" 

I smirk, and point my wand at him. " _Pogontrophus_." 

Flint strokes his new, scraggly beard. "Do I look dignified yet?" 

"You look like an escaped convict," Gemma tells him. 

Right after the feast, Professor McGonagall takes me to visit the Headmaster, preventing me from having another chance to talk to Remus before bed tonight. 

"How are you feeling, Lexen?" Dumbledore asks once we're alone. 

"Fine now, sir," I say. "Although I hope those Dementors don't stay long." 

"Yes, I heard you collapsed on the train," Dumbledore says. "Needless to say, this had me concerned." 

"I'd be surprised if I'm the last one," I say. "Putting these things near children!" 

"I agree completely, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "But it's the Ministry's orders, and I'm afraid I can't do anything about it." 

I shake my head. "No matter. I'll live. So long as I'm here, can we talk about Professor Lupin for a moment?" 

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. "Is there something you know about him from the future that should concern me?" 

"No, no," I say. "He'll be an excellent teacher. I was just wondering how you intend to explain why he'll be unavailable every full moon. I don't know that some parents wouldn't be distressed to learn their children are being taught by a werewolf." 

"Ah, you know about that, do you," Dumbledore says. "Severus will be brewing him up wolfsbane potion to keep his condition under control, so he won't be a danger to students, and will be covering for him during his monthly absences." 

I wonder how Snape will find time to teach additional classes on top of his own, but that's not really my concern. "Someone will inevitably figure it out, you know," I say. "The students aren't stupid. In my last life, I figured it out in an instant, and I didn't even know werewolves existed in this world!" 

"I was considering having Severus teach some of his classes under Polyjuice Potion to divert suspicion," Dumbledore says. 

I snort in amusement. "No offense to Snape or anything, but I don't think that would fly, either," I say. 

"Lexen, trust me, I have the situation figured out already," Dumbledore says. "There's no need to concern yourself with it." 

"Fine, fine, I'll take your word on that," I say. In the back of my mind, I'm planning to take my own measures. 

* * *

Arithmancy turns out to be a fascinating class, if a bit more technical than I can wrap my mind around sometimes. I'm thankful that we're starting out with simple things, like analyzing the basic meanings of numbers. Professor Vector, however, gave a lengthy introductory speech about how Arithmancy is used in spell creation, which makes me _really_ excited. Imagine, making my very own spells that do precisely what I want them to! It would be a lot of work, but given the time, which I have no end of, I could do absolutely anything, I think. 

"I kind of wish I hadn't signed up for Divination," Ron is telling Seamus in the common room after dinner. "Professor Trelawny keeps predicting the death of the Stormseeker, and he's not even in the class!" 

"Really, Ron?" I say. "So how am I going to die this week?" 

"First you'll fall down a staircase and break your neck," Ron replies. "Then you'll be mauled to death by a hippogriff. And then you'll fall off a broomstick. You know, as amusing as it is to hear about your potential death, it'll just be disappointing if none of them actually happen. And why is it always about _you_ , anyway?" 

"Would you prefer she be predicting _your_ death?" I ask. 

"You have a point," Ron admits reluctantly. 

"Divination is nonsense anyway, and you know it," I say. 

"Yeah, but it'll be an easy O," Ron says, shrugging. 

"The future isn't set in stone," I say. "I'll give her credit that she may be able to predict what _might_ happen, but it doesn't take any special power to do that, just a little common sense and forethought. But nobody can predict what _will_ happen." 

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to take Arithmancy or Ancient Runes!" Ron says. "Those looked awfully hard and like a lot of work. You and Hermione are nutters for wanting to take both of them. But then I already knew you were barmy to begin with, Stormseeker." 

* * *

"Welcome to Care of Magical Creatures, children," Hagrid says. "If you don't know me already, my name is Hagrid, and I'll be your teacher. Just Hagrid, none of that professor stuff. And this here is Rispy. He'll be assisting me with my classes." 

"A house-elf?" says Ron dubiously. "Why is he wearing clothes like that?" 

"I am _not_ a house-elf," Rispy snaps, glaring at him. 

"Ah, and that'll make a good first lesson," Hagrid says. "Many magical creatures are quite smart, and can be offended easily, so you have to be careful what you say to them." 

"I'll let that slide, since this is our first lesson," Rispy says. "But I'll have you know that I am an unbound, free-born elf." 

"Yeah, be glad he didn't stab you in the eye for that," I tell Ron, chuckling. 

"Could he _do_ that?" Ron says. "I thought house-elves couldn't attack wizards..." 

"Weren't you paying attention to the 'he's not a house-elf' bit, Weasel?" Draco sneers. 

"You must always give to all beings the respect that they deserve," Rispy says. "I am here to help to teach this class in order to perhaps clear up some of the misconceptions that wizards have about other beings." 

Hagrid leads us out on the Hogwarts grounds to see a group of magnificent winged horse-like creatures with bird-like heads. 

"These are hippogriffs," Hagrid says. "Aren't they beautiful?" 

I frown a little at seeing them. They're gorgeous, to be sure, but I can't help but remember Ron's comment about Trelawny foretelling my death. No, it's not certain that I _will_ die here today. It's just possible that I _could_ die here. 

"Now, here, Ron, approach this one, carefully now," Hagrid is saying. "His name is Buckbeak. Let him get a good look at you, become comfortable with you. Let him make the first move." 

Ron stands before the hippogriff impatiently, and mutters, "Oh, come on, you stupid beast." 

The hippogriff rears up in anger. I move reflexively, darting ahead. I grab Ron and push him out of the way. Buckbeak strikes me instead, hard. Ripping and tearing at my skin, shattering bone. Pain. Blood. I collapse to the ground. 

" _Stormseeker!_ " Hermione is screaming. 

Ron gapes down at me, as if disbelieving that I would save him, and says, "Oh, Merlin..." 

I try to chuckle softly, but it only comes out as a gurgle. "Looks like... Trelawny was right... after all..." 

I can distantly hear them trying to get help, but I'm losing too much blood too fast. I slip away in moments. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory and rub my eyes. A little wearily, I look across to Ron, still dozing lightly. Ron, who will never realize that I died in order to help him. 

It's strange, when I'm thinking and reasoning, I know that Ron is not my friend in this life. And yet when there's danger, when there's only instinct, it seems I would still protect him anyway just as much as Hermione or Draco or Neville. 

I can't feel too bad about that sort of end. It's not like I was intentionally abandoning my friends, and I actually managed to help someone in the process. Well enough. Now I just need to find a way to avert it in a manner that I can live with. 

So, I go through my morning routine, eat breakfast, and head out to my Care of Magical Creatures class once again. I listen to Hagrid introduce himself and Rispy, and hear Rispy's warning again about treating beings with respect. You know, hearing it so clearly again, I just have to think... Ron is an _idiot_ sometimes. He means well, but he doesn't really think things through very well at times. 

"Ron," I say, stepping in behind him as Hagrid leads us off toward the hippogriffs. "You should listen to him." 

"I listened to him!" Ron snaps. 

"I'm serious, Ron," I say. "There's plenty of creatures out there that may not look like people, but are just as smart as people. And some of them are quite quick to take offense. So be careful, and be polite." 

"I don't need your help!" Ron says. "Gah, leave me alone." 

"Alright, let me put this another way," I say. "Hagrid is your friend, right?" 

"Yeah," Ron says. "He invites me to tea sometimes, and gives me rock cakes that could break your teeth. But why does that matter to you?" 

"You wouldn't want to see any trouble happen in Hagrid's class, would you?" I say. "It would probably be back for him if a student were to be injured, or worse, killed." 

Ron sighs. "Fine, fine, you have a point. But I still don't like you." 

Hagrid introduces the hippogriffs, and urges Ron to approach Buckbeak, tries to instruct him in letting the hippogriff make the first move, but Ron is still pretty impatient. I've positioned myself off to the side, just in case. 

Ron says, "Come on already, you big stupid beast!" 

" _Flipendo!_ " I cast. Ron is knocked back out of the way before Buckbeak's talons come down upon the spot where he was just a moment before. 

"You really are daft, aren't you, Weasel," Draco says. 

"Ron!" Hagrid says. "Are you alright?" 

Ron climbs to his feet again slowly and looks back wide-eyed at Buckbeak -- and me. "Yeah," he says numbly. "Yeah..." 

"I tried to tell you, Ron," Hagrid says. "Hippogriffs are proud critters. You can't go insulting them like that, or they'll get offended and might hurt you." 

"I..." Ron says, turning to the hippogriff. "I'm sorry, Buckbeak. I didn't mean it." 

Buckbeak snorts softly and turns away, but at least he doesn't make any further aggressive moves. 

"Now, does anyone else want to try?" Hagrid says. "Just be more careful, please. Harry might not be so quick with his wand next time." 

"I'll have a go at it," Draco says. "Somebody's got to show the Weasel how it's done." 

"Alright," Hagrid says. "Just step up toward him, bow to him, and please for love of Merlin be polite..." 

Draco goes up and bows gracefully toward Buckbeak. "Hello, Buckbeak. I'm Draco Malfoy. I don't blame you for taking issue with that moron. That seems to say to me that you must be awfully smart." 

"I am _not_ a moron!" Ron mutters. 

"No, you're not, and that's the problem," I say. "You're smart enough to know better, and you do stupid things sometimes anyway. You just don't really think through things sometimes. Well, sometimes I don't either." 

"Argh, leave me alone, Stormseeker," Ron snaps. "I swear, you're worse than Hermione sometimes. At least _she_ just tries to show she's better than you by reciting from books." 

I sigh softly. "I'm sorry, Ron." I shake my head. It would be a futile effort to try to be his friend again. I accepted that a long time ago. It's just that it seems like my subconscious mind isn't entirely convinced of that yet. 

By this point, Draco is getting on well with Buckbeak, patting him gently and stroking his feathers. "You're a pretty one, aren't you," Draco says. 

"I reckon he likes you, Draco," Hagrid says. "I think he wants to let you ride him." 

"Better you than me, Draco," I say. "I hate to fly." 

With Hagrid's help, Draco climbs up on top of Buckbeak and settles himself between the wings. Then, the hippogriff takes off, up and into the air. Several minutes later, they return and land while Lavender is trying to make nice to another hippogriff. 

Draco slides off from Buckbeak's back. "That was _awesome_ ," he says, grinning from ear to ear. "Nothing like flying on a broom at all." 

"All the same, I still think I'd much rather keep my feet firmly planted on the ground," I say. 

* * *

I'm excited about our first lesson with Remus. Or Professor Lupin now, I suppose I should say. We're to have a practical lesson for the first day, and I'm practically bouncing imagining what he has in mind. 

"A boggart has moved into the staff room, and I asked the Headmaster to save it for my third years," Lupin is telling us. "Now, who can tell us what a boggart is?" 

Hermione raises her hand. "It's a creature that takes the shape of what we most fear." 

"Exactly, Hermione," Lupin says. "The spell to ward off a boggart is _Riddikulus_. Now, Neville? Could you tell me what your greatest fear is?" 

"The Stormseeker as a Dark Lord," Neville replies immediately. 

"I see," Lupin says, quirking an eyebrow and casting a glance at me. "And Neville, you live with your grandmother, don't you? Could you describe to me what sort of things she wears?" 

"Well, she's got this hideous hat with a stuffed vulture on top of it," Neville says. "And green dresses, maybe a fox-fur scarf... and a red handbag. But I'm not scared of my grandmother, sir, no matter how ugly her clothes can get." 

"That's not what I mean," Lupin says. "When you cast your spell, imagine the the Dark Lord Harry wearing your grandmother's clothes. The key to defeating a boggart is laughter, and _Riddikulus_ will force it to assume a shape that's amusing to you." 

"Alright," Neville says. 

Lupin opens the wardrobe, and out pops a version of myself, taller and crackling with lightning, draped in a high-necked black cloak. The boggart Lexen cackles madly and looks around with a terrifying, murderous gaze. 

" _Riddikulus!_ " Neville says, pointing his wand at the boggart. Suddenly, sure enough, the Dark Lord Lexen is wearing a stuffed vulture had, a long, green dress, a scarf, and is wielding a red handbag instead of a wand. 

"I'm never going to live this one down, am I," I comment dryly. 

"I just wish Colin Creevey were here with his camera," Ron says, smirking. 

Lupin starts calling us each forward in turn to practice against the boggart. Parvati faces a mummy, Seamus has a banshee, Ron has a giant spider... Lupin turns to look at Dean beside me next, but I step forward and say, "My turn!" I'm not getting skipped over here! 

As I approach, the boggart, currently a legless spider, shifts and takes on the form of Gilderoy Lockhart, grinning at me with his award-winning smile. "Obliviate!" says the boggart. It's not a real spell, there's no power behind it, but it still freaks me out and starts my heart racing in a panic. 

" _Flipendo! Expelliarmus!_ " I cast reflexively. 

"Stormseeker, the spell is _Riddikulus_ ," Lupin says. 

"Obliviate, Obliviate, Obliviate!" says the boggart Lockhart, grinning even as it's bounced around. 

"Oh... sorry," I say, forcing myself to calm down. This is really my worst fear? I focus, and try to picture Ron's Muggle underwear. " _Riddikulus!_ " Lockhart is suddenly wearing nothing but boxer shorts with smiley faces on them. 

"Well done, Stormseeker," Lupin says. "Dean, it's your turn." 

We go through the rest of the class and finish off the boggart, forcing it to take the shapes of other various scary and amusing things. As we finish up and Lupin dismisses the class, Lupin asks me to stay for a moment afterward. 

"What is it, Professor?" I say. "I'm sorry I got a little carried away and forgot what we were doing for a moment." 

"Quite understandable, Stormseeker," Lupin says. "Boggarts try to play off our fears. We just need to remember to keep our heads about us. I have to admit that I'm surprised at your worst fear, however. I would have expected the boggart to take the form of Lord Voldemort, and I didn't want to expose the class to that. Who was that man?" 

"Gilderoy Lockhart," I explain. "Our Defense professor for the first half of last year. A man who is entirely too fond of Memory Charms." 

"So I see," Lupin says. "I believe I have heard of him previously, yes. Wrote a number of books, didn't he?" 

"He took credit for a lot of things other people did with a number of well-placed Memory Charms," I say. "And tried to do the same with me and my friends last year." 

"I can see why you'd be afraid of that, then," Lupin says, nodding. "A much more concrete and immediate fear than a Dark Lord you've never actually met. Very well, run along now. Your friends look to be waiting for you out in the hallway." 

I don't mention that I have, indeed, encountered the Dark Lord on multiple occasions already, and was killed by him a few times, too. And he does scare me, mostly because of the Imperius Curse, but I'd much rather have that used upon me than Obliviate. And why should I be afraid of dying, anyway? 

"Come on, let's go get some lunch," Neville says. "I'm starved." 

"Hey, Stormseeker," Draco says. "If it makes you feel any better, I think you look good in a dress!" 

"Shove it, Draco," I say, snickering and punching him in the shoulder playfully. 

* * *

"Welcome to another year of the Hogwarts Dueling Club," Professor Snape says. "As you can see, there have been some rearrangements made this year. I'm afraid that I no longer can spare the time to direct separate Dueling Clubs for each year. And so, as you see, they have been combined into three groups instead. Beginner, for the first years. Intermediate, for the second, third, and fourth years. And Advanced, for the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. However, these are merely guidelines, and depending upon the aptitudes of each student, they may be moved up or down to better suit their abilities, or lack thereof." 

Dueling Club. My favorite way to spend every Saturday morning. Especially the part about getting killed by stray spells or arses pulling out illegal curses. But even considering all that, it's always fun, nonetheless. This is a place where my talents can really shine. 

Snape looks around the room, and says, "And I see that Storm Army is in full force again this year. Weasley, did you ever actually decide upon a name for your own group, or do you plan to keep changing it every week again?" 

"I was thinking of calling it Rainbow Army," Ron replies. 

"You can't be serious," Seamus says, snorting. "I'm not going to be a part of anything with a name like Rainbow Army!" 

"Okay, maybe not," Ron says. 

Snape rolls his eyes, and says, "You'll be changing it every week again, then. Very well. This year, we will be doing things a little differently. We will be focusing more upon group competition. Any duels won will earn points for a student's group. We will also go into duels which are not strictly one-on-one, as well." 

"Who put Weasley in charge, anyway?" say a fourth year boy whose name I don't know. 

"Himself," Snape says. "The rules for groups are like so. Anyone may create a group. Anyone may join or leave a group at any time. If a student leaves a group, any points they have earned for that group will remain with that group. New groups will always start with zero points. If a group leader joins another group, any points the former group has earned will be added to the total of the latter group, and the former group will be disbanded." 

"How do the points work?" Ron asks. 

"I'm getting to that, Weasley," Snape says, glaring at him. "Defeating an opponent awards two points and deducts one point from the loser. Defeating a group leader awards five points and deducts three points from the leader's group." 

"That's not fair," Ron says. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for whinging pointlessly," Snape says absently. "Now, let us begin the group registration." He waves his wand, and two hourglasses appear, similar to those used for the house points, but smaller. One bears the name 'Storm Army' and has the thundercloud symbol above it. The other, 'Rainbow Army', with a rainbow on top of it. 

"We _can_ change the name of the group, right?" Ron asks. 

"Yes," Snape says long-sufferingly. 

"I think I'd rather that my group be called, um..." he casts about for a moment. "Peace Army!" 

"That doesn't even make sense, Ron," I say. 

"No, wait, I know..." Ron says. "Red Army!" 

"Very well," Snape says. The second hourglass changes to 'Red Army'. With a generic red circle above it. 

"Like chess, you know?" Ron says. The symbol changes to a red chess knight. "Yeah, like that. That's good!" 

"Does anyone else wish to form a group?" Snape asks. 

A fourth year Ravenclaw named Marcus Belby starts up a group named the Owl Order. Lavender Brown forms the Fluffy Bunny Legion. And Ginny Weasley creates the Fire Guardians. 

"Lavender, you're leaving me?" Ron says. "And Ginny! I'm betrayed by my own baby sister!" 

"I'm not a baby anymore, you prat," Ginny says. "Besides, I can beat you in a duel anyday. You can always join _my_ group if you want." 

"No way," Ron says. 

"Suit yourself," Ginny says. "I don't know about you, but _I_ aim to actually _win_ this thing." 

"Professor Snape!" Ron says. "Isn't it going to be unfair if the Stormseeker has the biggest group?" 

"Do you want to lose Gryffindor more points for whining, Weasley?" Snape asks. 

"Forget I said anything," Ron says quickly. 

"Professor Snape!" Ginny says. "I'm a Weasley, too. Can I be 'Weasley' in here? Ron can go by 'Prat' instead." 

"Ginny!" Ron says indignantly. 

"We totally have this in the bag," Draco comments to me quietly. 

"We'll see," I say. "Be on alert, and underestimate nobody. We won't get anywhere by being complacent and overconfident." 

"Right," Draco says. "But who of those lot can really hope to stand against us?" 

"Um..." I say. "Well, it looks like Ginny just turned Ron's boogers into a bat and is beating the snot out of him with it... pardon the pun."


	54. Grim Terrors

It's nice having Luna in Dueling Club with me this year. I realize I hadn't spent much time with her last year, outside of meals and Storm Army meetings, after having been inseparable from her in my last life. Maybe I was just subconsciously a little uncomfortable with being around her after how horrifically she was taken from me last time. 

Luna's wolpertinger, which she has dubbed Bob, has become something of the mascot for Storm Army, for some reason, despite the fact that nobody else can even see it. 

"Well, be careful nobody steps on him," I say after she brings him to a Storm Army meeting in the room by the sleeping dragon tapestry. 

"Oh, not much danger of that," Luna says. "Bob is much too quick for that. You all would probably have a hard time catching him if you tried, even if you could see him." 

"But he seems to let _you_ pick him up," Neville says. 

Luna nods. "I bribe him with treats. He likes me." 

"Hey, Stormseeker," Blaise says. "I spent the summer mastering Occlumency. When do I get to be inducted into your inner circle and privy to your mysterious secrets?" 

"I think I've done pretty well in learning Occlumency, myself," Dean says. "But I haven't had a chance to really test it. I already know some of the secrets, but I'd bet that there's a lot I don't know yet." 

"What about me?" Myrtle says. "I don't think anyone can even use Legilimency on a ghost anyway! I want to know!" Even though she can't actually hold a wand or really use magic, Myrtle is still a permanent fixture of Storm Army. She likes hanging around us, and I wouldn't dream of telling her to go away. 

"Should we leave, boss?" Crabbe asks. 

Glancing around the room, it looks like he and Goyle are the only other ones present who don't know the secrets. The other members of Storm Army are less enthusiastic about spending their free time practicing spells in unused classrooms. 

"No, I think it's about time you all know this," I say. 

"But Crabbe and me don't know Occlumency," Goyle says. "Malfoy let us look at some of his books, but it seemed awfully hard." 

"I'll take that risk," I say. "Do your best. That's all anyone can ask of you." 

"So what exactly is this big secret, anyway?" Blaise asks. 

I gesture to them to gather around, and we all take seats in a circle. No more secrets. I let it all out. I tell them everything. About who I really am, where I'm really from, and what my unique abilities are. 

"So that's why you go by Stormseeker?" Crabbe asks. 

I nod. "It's better that you all know this, I suppose," I say. "We've been through this much together, even if there have been a few bumps along the way." 

"I wish I'd known what was really going on with Lockhart," Goyle says. 

"Never letting something like _that_ happen again," Draco says, scowling. 

"And what about Dumbledore?" Blaise asks. "How does he fit into all this? Does he know about this?" 

"He's the one who set it all up," I say. "Beyond that, I really don't think he _cares_ what I do so long as Harry Potter appears to be alive and well. Although I'm sure he might not be too happy if I actually did become a Dark Lord." 

"Merlin," Blaise murmurs. "You know, I made some guesses as to what your secret was, but this wasn't even on my list." 

I snicker softly. "Yeah, that's kind of the point. What, did you think I was actually the Dark Lord's baby or something?" 

"Well, there _was_ the Veratiserum incident in the Slytherin common room last year," Blaise says. "Most of Slytherin believes that by this point, I think." 

"Wonderful," I say dryly, rolling my eyes. "No help for it now, I suppose. Anyway, if any of you ever wants to back out or thinks you'd be better off not knowing all this, I can take you to Dumbledore right now and have you Obliviated." 

They're shaking their heads. "Not a chance," Blaise says. 

"Although it's still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that Darth Vader is _actually_ your father," Dean says. 

"You think that's strange?" I say. "Look at it from my perspective. I had to learn about my father from Muggle movies! My mother left that universe before he became a Dark Lord, so even she had no idea..." 

"I see your point," Dean says. "If I found out that my mysterious father was actually a famous fictional figure from another dimension... I don't know what I'd do." 

"So, about this immortality bit," Blaise says. "You go back in time every time you die? What would happen if you were killed by the Dementor's Kiss?" 

I raise an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, Dementors can suck people's souls out, right?" Blaise says. "What would happen then?" 

My blood suddenly runs cold. "They... they can do _what_?" I cry. 

"You didn't know that?" Blaise says. 

"I could have had my soul eaten on the train!?" I exclaim. 

"I'm sure the Ministry wouldn't have allowed them to Kiss any students..." Neville says. 

I hug my knees to my chest, heart racing in terror. "I had no idea anything like that was even possible," I say quietly. One thing's for certain. I'm going to be avoiding Dementors at all costs from here on out. "I thought they just made you depressed... _Fuck_." 

"Sorry," Blaise says sheepishly. 

"Congratulations, Blaise," I mutter. "I think you just changed my boggart." 

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts continue to be interesting, although thankfully I manage to avoid any further deaths for the time being. I do, however, wish that Professor Lupin would focus more upon curses than how to deal with monsters. I want to learn some cool new spells! 

The first Hogsmeade weekend is scheduled for Halloween. Nothing good ever seems to happen on Halloween, so I'm hoping this year might actually be the exception for once. Still, I'm dreading just what might go wrong this year. 

"Mr. Potter should stay in the castle," McGonagall is telling me. "Sirius Black is out there! He was sighted not far away recently!" 

"But I have a signed form!" I argue. "Dumbledore said I could go!" 

"And I should have a talk with Dumbledore about this," McGonagall says. "If Sirius Black were to find you, you could be hurt!" 

"I'm more scared of the Dementors than Sirius Black," I say dryly. "At least Black won't suck my soul out!" 

"The Dementors aren't going to Kiss any students," McGonagall tries to assure me. 

"You say that now, but it only takes one 'accident', and how will the Ministry explain that, then?" I retort. 

"Mr. Potter, the Dementors are not going to suck your soul out," McGonagall says. "And if there seemed to be _any_ danger of Dementors actually attacking students, any teachers nearby would ward them off with the Patronus Charm." 

"The Patronus Charm wards off Dementors?" I ask. Oh, yeah, I seem to recall hearing mention of that, a lifetime ago, but I'd entirely forgotten about it. 

"Yes. Although I rather doubt that _you_ would be able to cast it anytime soon," McGonagall says. 

"I've been practicing it for years, and I'm getting close, I think," I say, bringing out my wand. I bring to mind the thought of Draco returning to me, wanting to be my friend again. Hope for the future, hope to mend some of the damage that has been done in this life. I hold onto that thought with all my might. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A bright, but unsteady light emerges from my wand for a few seconds before wisping away into nothingness. 

"That's more than I would have expected at your age," McGonagall says. "That's almost a non-corporeal Patronus. Perhaps, if you're so concerned about the Dementors, it might be fruitful to ask Professor Lupin for further instruction. If you've gotten that far with self-study, you may be able to actually cast it with some appropriate guidance. Might I ask _why_ you have been practicing the Patronus Charm? Where did you even hear of it?" 

"I read about it in a book," I lie. "And it seemed like a useful thing to know." 

"How often did you expect to be going up against Dementors or Lethifolds?" McGonagall asks. 

"Well, not so much that, but I wanted to be able to communicate with my friends quickly, and it could be used for that," I say. 

McGonagall looks at me suspiciously. "Did Dumbledore tell you that?" 

I frown and raise an eyebrow. Did I say something wrong? "Maybe..." I say ambiguously. 

"The use of the Patronus Charm for communication is not widely known," McGonagall says. "You could not have read _that_ in any book." She shakes her head. "I don't know what Albus is playing at with you sometimes. But fine, if he thinks you should be allowed to visit Hogsmeade, then who am I to argue..." She sighs. "Run along now, Mr. Potter, I'm sure your friends are waiting for you somewhere." 

"Thank you, ma'am," I say, and leave the office. 

* * *

I head out the gates for Hogsmeade with my friends. It's more than a little unpleasant passing near the Dementors, but downright terrifying when I think of what they could do to me. If I never get close up to another one of those, it'll be too soon. How could the Ministry inflict soul-sucking abominations of doom upon school children like this? Is Sirius Black really worth it? 

Thankfully, our first stop is Honeydukes sweet shop, and a bit of chocolate helps to dispel the lingering feeling of cold that the Dementors left clinging to me. 

Everywhere I go, I have a crowd of people attached to me like Sticking Charms, when they aren't wandering off a short ways to look at things. Maybe it's true what they say about shared secrets bringing people together. I absently dream of one day commanding an army of loyal followers, to change the world in any way I choose. The fantasy amuses me, even if I'm not really interested in actually ruling the world. 

As we're heading through the village, I spot a large black dog skulking behind the Hog's Head, perhaps a stray looking for scraps of food. Feeling a little sorry for it, I go to pull out some of the sweets I'd gotten from Honeydukes out of my bag. 

"No, Stormseeker," Hermione says, putting a hand on my arm to stop me. "Chocolate is bad for dogs." 

"Oh," I say dumbly. "Well, maybe a Cauldron Cake would be alright, then." 

"If you get mauled to death by a rabid dog, I'm not going to cry for you," Draco says. 

"Here, boy," I say, holding out the treat toward the big dog. "You hungry? You can have it. All for you." 

The dog sniffs cautiously and approaches slowly, then carefully takes the Cauldron Cake out of my hand, licking my palm with an enormous tongue. 

"Gah, it's a grim!" exclaims Ron from the far end of the alley. 

"It's just a dog, Ron," I say, rolling my eyes. 

The dog turns around and gives a good look to Ron, and bounds toward him. Ron squeaks in panic for a moment and jumps back reflexively, but the dog just sniffs at him. 

"Get down, you mangy mutt!" Ron says. "Leave me alone! My Uncle Bilius saw a grim, and then died the very next day!" 

"You've also been paying far too much attention to Trelawny's death omens," I say, approaching the dog and bending down next to it. "What did she say would kill me today?" 

"Um... she said you'd drown in the lake, choke to death on a walnut, get blown up by a firecracker, and then be mauled by a werewolf," Ron says. 

"See? Nothing to do with dogs there," I say. I give the dog a pat on the head and scratch him behind the ears, and he wags his tail and pants happily. 

"Okay, fine," Ron says. "But no matter how many dogs you pet, I'm not going to think that Harry Potter, the dreaded Stormseeker, is a nice guy." 

"You can go off and dread him someplace else then, Weasel," Draco says. "Nobody invited you." 

Ron heads off in a huff. I look down at the dog, who is cocking his head curiously at me. "I wonder if McGonagall would let me keep a dog," I say. 

"You already have an owl," Hermione says. "And I'm pretty sure giant dogs are against the rules." 

"Pity," I say. "I guess you'll have to stay here then, boy." 

The dog lets out a pathetic whine. 

"You don't want to be left out here? You want to come with me?" I ask. 

The dog bobs his head up and down as if nodding excitedly. 

"Stormseeker, you can't hide a dog in your dorm!" Hermione says. "And besides, Ron or Seamus would snitch on you for sure!" 

"We could always keep him in _our_ dorm," Draco offers. "How would you like to be an honorary Slytherin, boy?" 

The dog bares his teeth and lets out a low, rumbling growl. 

"What, you got something against Slytherins?" Draco asks. "Would you really rather stay out here in the cold than inside our nice, cushy dorm?" 

The dog whimpers softly. 

"That's what I thought," Draco says. 

"Alright, boy," I say, pulling out my invisibility cloak. "I'll lend you this to get inside, but you have to promise not to run off with it or anything. It belonged to my father, James Potter, you see, and I'm rather attached to it. You promise me that, doggy?" 

The dog cocks his head at me, then nods enthusiastically. 

"Good, just so we understand each other," I say. 

I drape the cloak over the back of the dog, and he vanishes. I don't really trust letting the cloak out of my hands, however, and keep a firm hold on the collar of it, just in case. The dog is big enough that I don't even need to lean down awkwardly to do so, either. 

"Alright, everyone form a circle around me," I say. "Snape's been keeping track of students coming and going. When we get inside, can someone distract him so he doesn't notice anything? Maybe bump into him 'accidentally' or something?" 

"I'll do it," Neville volunteers. 

"When we get to the Great Hall, Gryffindors break off and head up to our common room," I say. "I'll head down with the Slytherins for the moment and join you shortly myself." 

The lot of us head back toward Hogwarts, a little bit ahead of the main bulk of the students visiting Hogsmeade today. The Dementors make me shudder, and I'm glad that I still have some chocolate in my bag to nibble on afterward, because I'll surely need it. They seem to give me a longer than usual look, but perhaps it's just my nervousness. I try to stay calm and look casual while holding my hand firmly at a bit of a weird angle on the collar of my cloak. Snape is watching us as we come in, probably making sure that everyone is accounted for. 

"Trevor!" Neville cries out, bowling over Snape impressively. 

"Watch where you're going, you dunderhead!" Snape says, climbing to his feet and brushing off his clothes. 

So far so good. Along with the cluster of Slytherin boys, I get the dog down into the dungeons. 

"Aconite," Draco says, opening up the entrance to the common room. There's several first and second years in the Slytherin common room at the moment, as well as a couple upper years like Gemma. 

"Stormseeker?" Gemma says, chuckling. "You might as well have been sorted into Slytherin for all the time you spend in here. Wait, have you got something there?" 

With my free hand, I put a finger to my lips and say, "Shh," glancing around meaningfully at the younger students, then gesture at her to follow as we go into the third year boys' dorm. Once inside, I glance around, then pull off the cloak, revealing the large black canine underneath. 

"He followed us home," Draco says. "Can we keep him?" 

"You picked up a stray in Hogsmeade?" Gemma says. "Well, I suppose it's alright, if you boys are willing to take care of him and keep him out of trouble. What are you going to call him?" 

"How about 'Grim'?" I suggest. 

"Sounds good to me," Draco says, snickering. 

The dog barks happily. "I think he likes it, too," Theodore says. 

The others head on out to the common room, leaving me alone with Draco and Grim for the moment. "Now, we'll be heading out to the feast in a moment, so you'd best stay here, Grim," Draco says. "I'll bring you back something, alright?" 

Grim barks, wagging his tail cheerfully. 

"First off, we need to lay some ground rules," Draco goes on. "You can sleep on one of the beds if you want, at the _end_ of the bed, mind you, but no tearing up the sheets. And if you even _think_ about making a mess on my bed, I'll throw you in the lake." 

The dog whimpers softly, looking at him pathetically. 

As I'm heading for the door to make my way to the Great Hall, I hear Draco murmuring to the dog quietly, "Don't ask me why I do these things for him. Me, Draco Malfoy! But I owe him my life, and I'd drink poison for him, but he'd never in a million years ask that of me. The Stormseeker is something else. He doesn't ask for much, so if the Stormseeker wants a dog, then the Stormseeker will have a dog." He speaks up and says, "Now, stay, Grim. Stay!" 

I quickly slip out of the dorm room before he turns around so that he doesn't realize I overheard what he was saying about me. 

* * *

After the Halloween Feast, I go to see Professor Lupin in his office. I'm still dreading something bad happening tonight, since nothing particularly bad has happened so far today. 

"Ah, hello, Stormseeker," Lupin says. He looks weary, like he hasn't slept in days. "I'm afraid I don't have much time to chat tonight. Is this urgent, or could you come back tomorrow?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's the full moon, isn't it?" I say. 

"You know about that?" Lupin says, raising an eyebrow. 

The door opens again, and Professor Snape comes in, bearing a smoking goblet. "Your potion, Lupin," he says. 

"Ah, yes, thank you, Severus," Lupin says. "Just put it on the desk." 

"You be sure to drink that straight away," Snape says, casting a look at me before leaving the room again. 

"That's the wolfsbane potion, I take it?" I ask. 

"Who told you about my, ah, furry little problem?" Lupin asks. 

I shrug noncommittally. "Does it matter?" I say. "It doesn't bother me." 

"Well, that's very generous of you," Lupin says. "Now, what was it you wanted to speak with me about?" 

I shake my head. "Don't forget to drink your potion," I remind him firmly. If Trelawny keeps predicting my death, she's bound to get at least some of them right. 

"Yes, of course," Lupin says, deliberately picking it up and drinking it down. "James would never forgive me if I wound up inadvertently ripping apart his only son." 

I imagine that James might never forgive whoever let his only son die at the age of five. "Professor McGonagall suggested that you might be willing to help me learn the Patronus Charm," I say. 

"That's a very advanced charm, but given your strong reaction to Dementors, it might be good for you to know," Lupin says. 

"I've been practicing," I say brightly. "Would you like to see?" 

"Have you, now?" Lupin asks. "Alright, then. Let's see what you can do." 

I pull out my wand, and think about... eating chocolate after having been near a Dementor. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A bright light flickers and sputters out of the end of my wand for a few seconds. 

"Hmm," Lupin says. "Your movements and incantation are perfect, but it looks like you don't have a strong enough happy thought, or a good enough grasp on the emotion. What sorts of thoughts have you been using?" 

"All sorts of different things," I say. "And some of them I can't tell you about." I give him a crooked grin. "Could I see your Patronus, sir? Please?" 

"Alright," Lupin says, raising his wand. " _Expecto Patronum_." A silvery wolf promptly springs out of the end of the wand and looks up at me. 

"Nice," I say. "I'd really like to see what my Patronus will be. May I ask what your happy memory is?" 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you about that, either," Lupin says. 

"That's fair," I say. Will I ever be able to trust him with my secrets? Probably with the time travel bit, but there's no way in the Abyss that I'm going to tell him that I'm not really his friend's son. 

"You'd best go, Harry," Lupin says. "It's almost moonrise. But come back next weekend and I'll see what I can do." 

"Yes, sir," I say, giving him a quick bow and heading out. 

* * *

The first Quidditch game of the season is the Saturday after Halloween, and it's Gryffindor versus Slytherin. I hate Dueling Club being canceled on weekends where there's a Quidditch game, but at least it's a change of pace, I suppose. I can always go and watch, and support Slytherin. Even if I still can't really follow the game. And it's freezing cold and raining. Is this really supposed to be fun? 

"Poor Draco," I murmur. "How can he hope to see the Snitch in this sort of weather?" 

"He's almost been hit with a Bludger twice," Theodore says. 

The sky was already dark and cold, but it seems to get even darker and colder. Inky black shadows are approaching the field. Shit, Dementors? There must be a hundred of them! 

Absolute terror freezes me in place, and I think I hear screaming in my mind. The screams of my dying cousins, Helga and Hilda, tortured to death by that monster, Sedder. Wordlessly pleading for mercy that would never come. 

"Draco's in trouble!" Theodore is saying, but his words seem to come to me from a long distance. 

"No, no, no..." I murmur softly, shaking my head and shivering uncontrollably. 

"We've got to help him!" Neville says. 

"No way," I whisper. "No way," I say more loudly. "I'm not going near those abominations for anything." What's the use? People will live and die no matter what I do. The world can burn for all I care. 

I'm vaguely away of Neville running out of the stands. I close my eyes and try to shut out the darkness. 

Some while later, I find myself shuffled inside, and someone is telling me to eat some chocolate. That'll help, I realize. I absently nibble on some of the object that I was given, and I quickly feel less cold, even though I'm still soaked to the skin from the rain. 

"Ugh, what happened?" Draco is muttering. I glance about. How did I get into the hospital wing? 

"You feel off your broom," Hermione says. "Neville ran out into the middle of the field and cast a Softening Charm on the ground beneath you." 

"Into the middle of the Dementors?" I say, gaping. 

"Well, there weren't any of them in that particular spot," Neville says. 

"You're a very fortunate young man," Madam Pomfrey tells Draco. "You could have gotten worse than merely some bruises if you didn't have such dedicated friends." 

Draco stares up at the ceiling. After Pomfrey leaves the room for the moment, he says, "When those creatures came near... I could remember the Chamber of Secrets. I remembered the Chamber of Secrets again... Fuck." 

"I thought that memory was Obliviated," Hermione says. 

"I guess the Dementors didn't care about that," Draco says. "They dug it up anyway, apparently. Now I kind of wish I could forget it again." 

"I'm sure Dumbledore would oblige if that's what you really want," I say. 

Draco shakes his head quickly. "No. Just... didn't expect to see something so horrible in the middle of a Quidditch game like that." 

"I'm sorry," I say softly. 

"It's not really your fault," Draco assures me. 

"No," I say. "I'm sorry I didn't come to help you." I gaze sheepishly at the floor for a moment. "I guess we saw who the real Gryffindor was today. I didn't want to go near those things. Neville's a lot braver than me." 

Neville looks at me like I've just given him a priceless family heirloom. "I just didn't want him to get hurt..." 

"I don't blame you, Stormseeker," Draco says. "But I do appreciate it, Neville. Thanks." 

* * *

The next day is Sunday, and Professor Lupin takes some time out of the evening to give me pointers on casting the Patronus Charm. I think I might be getting better, but I'm still missing something. 

"This might be easier if we could practice against an actual Dementor," Lupin says. "But I do not wish to expose you to that until I'm certain that you're ready for it. Yesterday's incident was bad enough, and we don't need a repeat of that." 

"What about a boggart?" I ask. 

"Wasn't your boggart Gilderoy Lockhart?" Lupin says. 

"It was," I say. "And then somebody told me that Dementors can _suck your soul out_. So I'm pretty sure a boggart would turn into a Dementor for me now." 

"A Dementor as your boggart?" Lupin says. "That would suggest that your greatest fear is fear itself." 

"No, my greatest fear is _having my soul sucked out_ ," I say, shuddering involuntarily at the very thought. "Being Obliviated is pretty bad, but that's much, much worse." 

"I see," Lupin says. "Alright, I'll keep an eye out for another boggart and we can try that."


	55. Canines

"Hello, Grim," I say. "We've brought someone to meet you." 

Hermione comes into the dorm, arms full of her fluffy ginger cat. "This is Crookshanks," she says. "I hope he likes you." 

I wonder what it says about what Slytherin House has become that they don't even bat an eye at a Gryffindor Mudblood strolling through their common room anymore. Judging by the rumors I've heard, they seem to think that I'm the Dark Lord's son, and Ravenclaw's secret heir is my chosen mate. It's all silly, but I don't care to argue with it. 

Hermione sets Crookshanks down on the floor. Grim sniffs the cat curiously, and Crookshanks cocks his head back at the dog. The cat's tail twitches distrustfully, but neither of them makes any hostile move. It's interesting watching them making noises and body movements at one another, as if trying to communicate. 

"So how has Grim been?" I ask. "He hasn't given you any trouble, has he?" 

"Not at all," Draco says. "He's a good dog, and very smart. I swear he always knows exactly what I'm saying. I think he tries to get out at night, sometimes. I've found him down in the common room after curfew." 

"Maybe he's trying to get to the Gryffindor dorms," I speculate. 

Grim nods his head at that. 

"Heh," I say, grinning. "Looking for me, huh?" 

Grim shakes his head. 

"No?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Why, then? What, do you just want to eat Ron's rat or something?" 

Grim nods his head _very_ enthusiastically at that. 

Draco laughs aloud. "Smart boy," he says. "I vote we give him what he wants. Serves the Weasel right." 

"That's mean, even if it _is_ Ron," Hermione protests. 

Grim whines pathetically and cocks his head, looking up at her with liquid eyes. 

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Draco says. "How can you say no to the puppy dog eyes?" 

"We'll think about it, alright?" I say, smirking and pulling out my wand. " _Muffliato_. There's something else I wanted to talk to you guys about. I've already told Neville and Dean, but you guys should know, too." 

"What is it?" Draco asks. 

"It's about Professor Lupin," I say. "This isn't exactly my secret to tell, but I need your help to make sure it _stays_ a secret. You see, Lupin is a werewolf." 

Grim seems to cock his head thoughtfully at that. 

Blaise looks a little alarmed. "Dumbledore is letting a werewolf teach children?" 

"Snape's making him wolfsbane potions while he's here," I say. "He's perfectly safe. And you have to admit, he's probably the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has seen in years, if not decades. Not counting Draco's father, of course," I add, glancing to Draco. 

"Quirrell wasn't so bad," Theodore says. 

"Aside from the whole possessed by the Dark Lord thing," Draco points out. "That put a bit of a damper on things." 

"Alright, you have a point," Blaise says. "Compared to Quirrell and Lockhart, a werewolf is nothing." 

"I want you guys to keep an eye out for anyone starting to wonder about his lunar absences," I say. "Divert suspicion by any means necessary. I already had Luna get her father to print an article in _The Quibbler_ about how Lupin is secretly a hermaphrodite." 

"I'm really glad I'm not drinking anything at the moment," Draco says. 

Grim seems to be snickering himself. 

"Rumors about being a hermaphrodite to divert attention from being a werewolf?" Hermione says. "Honestly now. That's... about on par with everything else _The Quibbler_ prints." 

"So yeah," I say. "Lupin's a good teacher, and we don't need any idiots panicking and writing home to their panicked parents about it." 

"Storm Army will help, I'm sure," Draco says. 

"Just be careful," I say. "I don't fully trust everyone in Storm Army. Only mention the whole of it to those who know my secrets." 

"Alright," Draco says. 

Grim cocks his head at me curiously, and I have to chuckle a little at that. 

"What, do you want to know my secrets, too?" I ask. 

Grim nods his head, and gives me the puppy dog eyes again. 

"I'll think about it, smart boy," I say, smirking and rubbing his head. 

* * *

"Professor Lupin," I say. "What do you do during the full moon?" 

I'm in the Defense office with Lupin, having been invited for tea. He's trying to be friendly with me, I see, and I can appreciate it. 

"Mainly, I sit alone and wait it out," Lupin says. 

"That sounds awfully lonely," I say. "With the wolfsbane potion, you're not actually in any danger of attacking anyone, right?" 

"It helps me retain control," Lupin says. "But I would discourage you from getting any ideas about keeping me company or anything. I wouldn't want to take any chances." 

"How long have you had it?" I ask. 

"Since I was a child," Lupin says. "Attending Hogwarts with that condition was trying, to say the least. Dumbledore had to pull some strings for my sake." 

"But you were friends with my parents," I say. "They knew about it, didn't they?" 

"Oh, yes," Lupin says, chuckling softly. "And my friends... well, perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, but they're all either dead or otherwise out of the picture anyway. You see, they all become illegal unregistered Animagi, in large part so that they could spend time with me during the full moon. Werewolves only attack humans, after all. They're no danger to animals, even ones that are actually transformed wizards." 

"My dad was an Animagus?" I say, eyes widening. "What could he turn into?" 

"A stag," Lupin says. "And that was my happy memory, you see. When James announced his plan. That they were all going to do this for _my_ sake. Not only did they not judge me for being what I am, but they were willing to go out of their way like that for me." 

"Wow," I murmur. 

"Not just any happy memory will suffice for a Patronus," Lupin tells me. "But it's more the emotion that's important than the specifics of the thought. Hence, it needs to evoke a very strong emotion." 

"I can control my emotions pretty well a lot of the time," I say. "I know Occlumency, after all." 

"Really?" Lupin says. "That's quite an accomplishment for your age." 

Yeah, it took two years of Snape pushing me to get it right. "However, even the strongest happy memories I can think of still don't even get me an incorporeal Patronus," I say. 

"Try using the strongest one that comes to mind," Lupin says. "Let me see how that turns out." 

I give a nod, and bring to mind the memory of waking up again in Torn Elkandu. The thought that I can change everything. I can save everyone. I can make everything better. I can start over and try again. The swirling purple sky. The taste of pancakes. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A bright, wavering light erupts from my wand, and I'm able to hold it in place for a good five seconds this time before losing my focus. 

"Good, good. But you need to hold onto it better," Lupin says. "That won't hold back a Dementor for long. What is the memory that you were using for it?" 

"Heh..." I say, smirking. "Well, you might want to sit down for this. I suppose I already know your secret, so it's only fair that I tell you mine." 

"Only if you want to, Stormseeker," Lupin says. "I won't press you for it." 

I take a seat across from him. " _Muffliato. Colloportus_ ," I mutter. "Alright, this will take a bit of an explanation. In short, I'm a time traveler. And I'm pretty much immortal. When I die, I usually go back to the morning of the same day, giving me a chance to do something different to avoid whatever killed me." 

Lupin's eyes widen at that revelation. "I have never heard of such an ability before." 

"Yeah, there was some speculation that it might have had something to do with the Dark Lord's failed attempt to kill me as a baby," I say. "I don't really know. I just know that it works, and I'm not taking any chances with Dementors, because I don't know if I could come back from that. I died on the train, you know. Broke my neck trying to get away from the Dementors. And I was _still feeling their effects_ after waking up again." 

"That can't be a good sign..." Lupin says. "So what was the happy memory, then?" 

"I was killed in second year by a basilisk's gaze," I explain. "But instead of going back to that morning, I went back _all the way_ , to the first time I was killed. It was then that I realized I could start over, do things differently, and save everyone who died that time. Which, by the way, included you. That was how I knew you were a werewolf, you see. I'd hired you as a tutor after Hogwarts was shut down following most of the staff being killed by the basilisk." 

"Merlin," Lupin murmurs. "You've been through quite a lot, haven't you..." 

"You can say that again," I say. "I'm not sure what sort of circumstances triggered a full reset, but it happened once, so it could happen again. So, yeah. That was my happy thought." 

"I would think that something like that should be more than enough," Lupin says. "How long have you been practicing this?" 

"Since before Christmas second year, in my last life," I say. "So, about three years?" 

"Three years and you still can't cast it?" Lupin says. "Even with that strong of a memory? Perhaps there is something else that is impeding you, then." 

"I've always had trouble with charms," I say. "With jinxes, hexes, and curses, I can usually get them off right quick. Charms take a good bit of work to get right. Quirrell, the Defense teacher we had in my first year, said it was because I'm naturally inclined toward dark magic, or something. Of course, he was kind of possessed by the Dark Lord, so he might have been biased." 

"Your Defense professor was possessed by Lord Voldemort?" Lupin says in alarm. 

"Yeah," I say, shrugging. "But I found out about it and also got him sent to Azkaban for illegal dragon trafficking." 

"I see," Lupin says. "Well, people do tend to have different strengths and weaknesses. Your mother, Lily, she was good with charms, for instance, but your father was a master with transfiguration. Just being good with curses doesn't make you a bad person, after all. It can be a very good talent to have in a fight." 

I smile at him and relax a bit. "Thanks for that," I say. "I don't know if you've heard the rumors, but a lot of people at this school already think I'm a dark wizard, and therefore evil, and that I'll probably be the next Dark Lord. But I don't _want_ to be a Dark Lord." 

"Then don't be," Lupin says. "It does, however, appear that since you have difficulty with charms to begin with, casting an advanced charm like the Patronus will be very difficult for you, although I won't go so far as to say that it's outright impossible. It's very powerful light magic, however, and you might need to do something special to get over the hurdle required to cast it properly." 

"Like what?" I ask. 

"Hmm," Lupin says. "Tell me. What sort of defenses do you use with your Occlumency?" 

"I am the eye of the storm," I say. "Hence the name Stormseeker. With my Occlumency, I imagine myself in the eye of the storm, with my emotions raging around me. Nothing can penetrate the wall of raging winds around my mind." 

"Interesting," Lupin says. "In that case, perhaps the key to casting the Patronus Charm will be to tie it into your storm imagery as well somehow." 

"How?" I wonder. I can't think of anytime during a storm when I was actually _happy_. 

"I don't know," Lupin says. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself, I think." 

I nod. "Alright. Thanks for the help. I'll be sure to think on what you've said." 

* * *

I come into the Slytherin boys' dorm one Saturday afternoon in late November and collapse on Theodore's bed. "Theodore!" I call. "I'm stealing your bed!" 

"Be glad you're not in the hospital wing after that last duel," Theodore says from the bathroom door. 

Grim looks up at me with concern. 

"Oh, I brought you something, boy," I say. I sit up and pull a whole ham out of my bag of holding. "Pilfered it at lunch. All for you." 

Grim happily barks. I put the ham down on the floor, and the dog starts gnawing on it. 

"You're probably wondering why I'm so beat," I say to the dog. "I just got out of Dueling Club, you see. Ginny Weasley, she's a second year, defeated me in a duel with her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex. It was embarrassing, to say the least." 

Grim looks up at me and cocks his head, and I have to wonder if he's being sympathetic or amused. 

"Ah, well," I say. "I've been doing better with the Patronus Charm at least, with Lupin's help. I can keep a non-corporeal one going for almost ten seconds now!" 

Grim barks happily, and I grin back at him. 

"Thanks," I say. "Maybe I'll be able to cast a corporeal Patronus by the end of the year, at this rate. I suppose it's too much to hope for to be able to summon up a giant dragon Patronus that can, like, _eat_ Dementors." 

Grim barks and wags his tail. 

"Yeah, I hate those things, too," I say. "I can't believe a place like Azkaban even exists. Nobody deserves to be locked away in such a place." I lower my voice, and murmur, "Terrifying thought to think that _I_ could be sent there, if anyone ever found out what I've done." 

Grim cocks his head at me, whimpering a little. 

"I assure you, he had it coming," I say. "The bastard was attacking my friends. I couldn't stand for that." 

Theodore comes out of the bathroom with a towel on his head. "Stormseeker, are you confessing murder to the dog?" he asks. 

"Hey, if he tells anyone, I'll kill him," I say lightly. 

Grim pants in amusement. 

"I really wish they'd just take the damned Dementors away," I say, sighing. "I'm not scared of Sirius Black. Shit, I killed a Death Eater in my first year." Which was actually my third year, but never mind that. "If he comes after me, I'll show him all the new curses I've learned." 

Grim whimpers a little and cocks his head at me. 

"And he'd probably kick my ass anyway," I add, snickering. 

* * *

The next day is another Hogsmeade visit. I feel bad about leaving Grim cooped up in the Slytherin dormitory, especially with the way he keeps trying to get out, but it's tough to bring him in and out of the castle. I probably shouldn't keep a big dog like that inside all the time, when he clearly wants to go out and run around and play, but I suppose it's better than digging for scraps behind the pub and sleeping out in the cold. And if somebody were to see him, they might make us get rid of him. At least the Slytherins know how to keep a secret. 

Ah, well, at least I can bring him back plenty of treats from Hogsmeade. I fill up my bag of holding with things from Honeydukes for him. 

That evening, Hermione and I go to see Professor Lupin, Hermione with an armful of ginger fluff. 

"Ah, hello, Stormseeker, Hermione," Lupin says. "I'm afraid I don't have much time tonight..." 

"It's alright, Professor Lupin," Hermione says. "I just wanted to introduce you to Crookshanks here. Maybe he could keep you company tonight." 

"Huh?" Lupin says, looking at her in confusion. 

I mutter a privacy charm, and say, "Don't worry, she knows about your 'furry little problem'." 

"You told her?" Lupin says. 

"I trust Hermione with everything," I say, and then snort. "Besides, even if I didn't, she's one of the few students here bright enough to figure it out in a moment anyway." 

"Stormseeker said you would be okay with animals," Hermione says, putting Crookshanks down on the floor. 

"Well, I suppose that would probably be alright..." Lupin says. 

Crookshanks minces up toward Lupin curiously and cocks his head up at the teacher. Then, after a moment, goes to rub against his leg. 

"I think he likes you," Hermione says. "He's a such a smart cat, isn't he?" 

"Oh, I don't know about that," Lupin says. "Would I trust me if I were you? I'm still a monster, after all." 

"You are not," I say. 

"Ah, kids, I think you should go now," Lupin says, glancing uneasily out the window. 

A shaft of moonlight comes in through the window, bathing us in pure light. Lupin's body begins shaking, and he starts to transform. I stare at him in surprise, transfixed for a moment at the sight. And then I notice a smoking goblet sitting behind him on the desk. Oh, no. He didn't forget to take his potion again, did he? 

"Hermione," I say, eyes widening. " _Run_." 

Hermione makes a break for the door and barely manages to scramble out before Lupin finishes transforming, Crookshanks hot on her heels. I take a deep breath and put myself between the werewolf and the door, pulling out my wand and pointing it at him. 

" _Flipendo!_ " I cast, but the spell hardly affects the werewolf. He stumbles a little, but keeps coming. 

"Stormseeker!" screams Hermione. 

"Go, Hermione!" I yell. " _Colloportus_." The door slams shut and locks itself, leaving me alone in the room with the rampaging werewolf. 

My heart is pounding. I felt horrible about not being willing to help Draco at the Quidditch game. But this is a danger I have no fear of facing. I have no fear of dying, especially if it means that I was able to do something good in the process. And at least I've saved Hermione and gotten her out of harm's way. This is a death I would not be able to regret. 

" _Impedimenta!_ " I cast. The werewolf halts in his tracks, but only for a moment. He's too strong for me. I really should have run when I had a chance. 

The werewolf is upon me before I can get another spell off, and my wand is knocked out of my hand. Teeth and claws savage my body, ripping through my robes and spilling my blood upon the floor. This is it, I'm sure. I'll be dead in just a moment. 

Bleeding. I'm dizzy. My head is swimming. Pain. But landing on my eyelids, there's a light. The moon. I think I can feel it calling me... 

My entire body aches, right down to my very bones. When am I going to die? When is this going to be over? The moon, the moon, singing to me in my veins. My blood is burning. 

And then, my body is shifting. My bones and muscles are painfully rearranging themselves. Ragged fur sprouts from my skin, and my face transforms into a snout. The injuries that I took are already healing up on their own. I let out a long howl as feral instinct clouds my mind and takes over. 

* * *

Sunrise finds me in a strange place. What am I doing laying on the floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office? I should have died, shouldn't I? Why didn't I wake up in the Gryffindor dormitory? 

"Oh, Harry," Lupin is murmuring, looking down at me. "I am so, so sorry..." 

I look up at him in confusion for a moment, and then it dawns on me what happened last night. _Now_ I remember. The bites, the pain, the transformation... it didn't kill me after all, it merely infected me. I've become a werewolf. 

"I forgot to take my potion," Lupin says, looking at the floor. "Your father will never forgive me for this." 

I shake my head, trying to stand up wearily, but I'm too exhausted and my whole body still hurts. "Don't blame yourself," I say. "It was just as much my own fault. The smartest thing I did was the Locking Charm on the door, and I really should have been doing that from the _other_ side of it." I snort softly. "Dumbass Gryffindor moment." 

"This is serious, Harry," Lupin says. "Now I've infected you. Bad enough I've infected a student, but you of all people. How can I live with myself for something like this?" 

"The same way I'm going to," I say. "Life goes on." 

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Lupin says. "Perhaps you don't realize how hard this is going to make your life. You'll wind up going through painful transformations every month for the rest of your life. You'll never be able to hold a normal job. You--" 

I hold up my hand. "I don't care," I say firmly. 

"You can't just dismiss the disease--" Lupin says. 

"I said _I don't care_ ," I say. "So it'll complicate things a bit. Fine. But I'm still alive. Life goes fucking on. I'll deal with it. That's... the consequences of my own foolish actions." 

"Harry..." Lupin says. 

"Please, Professor," I say. "Call me Stormseeker." 

"Only if you call me Moony," Lupin says. 

"Alright, Moony," I say. "Help me up, will you? We're going to have to see Dumbledore. And I'll take full responsibility for this, and tell him that he is under no circumstances to fire you for this or let it get out. There's no way we're going to lose the best Defense teacher we've had in years because of _my_ mistake." 

" _Reparo_ ," Moony says, pointing his wand at me, and the tears in my robes mend themselves. He reaches down and puts his arm under me, and helps me to my feet. 

With Moony's help, I manage to stand unsteadily. I'm still sore all over. I'm surprised at how calm I am, given the circumstances. There's no cure for this. I've just taken something that will hound me for the rest of this lifetime. Why doesn't it bother me more than it does? Probably because it _was_ my own damned stupid fault. I got complacent, expecting that a death that wouldn't stick would be the worst thing that could happen to me. Let this be a valuable lesson for me, then. 

The two of us head out to Dumbledore's office. As he seems to be every time I come in here, he's writing at some bit of parchment. 

"Good morning, Remus, Harry," Dumbledore says. "What can I do for you today?" 

"Headmaster," Moony says. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident." He looks to the floor in shame. "I forgot to take my wolfsbane potion, and..." 

"It was my fault, Headmaster," I say. "Hermione and I came in and distracted him, and I'm certain that he would have remembered to take it if we hadn't interrupted. I got Hermione out and locked the door behind her, but it probably would have been smarter if I'd thought to lock it from the _outside_." I laugh softly. 

"Stormseeker, this isn't a laughing matter," Moony says. 

"Isn't it?" I say. "If I couldn't laugh, I'd probably cry. And I've done quite enough of that for one lifetime. But I'm the only one that was hurt here, so it's alright." 

"Still, an attack on a student is not good," Dumbledore says. "What do you wish to do, Harry? Should I dismiss Professor Lupin for this?" 

I shake my head vehemently. "Absolutely not," I say. "It was my own fault. I take full responsibility for what's happened to me. Cover it up and keep it quiet. I'll be fine." 

"But, Harry, you've been infected," Dumbledore says. "You're a werewolf now." 

"I'll be fine," I insist. "Failing all else, I can keep Remus company during the full moon now, I suppose. I'll live." 

"I'm so sorry," Moony murmurs. 

"You can quit saying that already, now," I say. "I forgive you, alright?" 

"I don't know why you should, but I am grateful nonetheless," Moony says. 

"Take the day off from classes to rest, Harry," Dumbledore says. "I have some arrangements I will need to make." 

* * *

With all of my friends in their Monday classes this morning, I head down to the kitchens to grab an armful of meat, then make my way down to the Slytherin dorms. Grim is curled up at the end of one of the beds. 

"Got some breakfast for you, boy," I say, tossing a whole haunch of ham down in front of him. I sit down across from the dog and gnaw on a sausage myself like a starving man. 

Grim looks at me a little oddly, then starts chewing on the ham. 

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm not in class," I say. "And I imagine that I probably look like hell, too. Had a little accident last night. My own stupid fault. Seems I've got a furry little problem of my own now." 

Grim glances at me in surprise, and then lets out a soft whimper. 

"Yeah, I know," I say. "I don't blame Moony for it, though. Like I said, it was my own stupid fault. Wasn't thinking very well. But I'm sore and exhausted now, so I hope you don't mind if I finish eating and then curl up and sleep for half the day." 

Grim's ears twitch, and he comes over to me and lays his head in my lap. 

"You can curl up next to me if you want," I say. "That's fine. I won't mind the company." 

The two of us polish off the meat I'd brought in no time. I climb into Theodore's bed and drift off, my arms full of warm, soft dog. 

* * *

By the time I wake, it's almost dinnertime. "There you are, Stormseeker," Hermione says. "Draco told me I could find you in here." 

"Nngh," I murmur. I'm still a bit stiff and sore, and to think I have another two nights of this... and years more of it to look forward to. "Hello, Hermione. How are you doing?" 

"I should be asking _you_ that, you know," Hermione says. "What were you thinking, locking yourself in a room with a werewolf like that?" 

"I was thinking that at least you would be safe," I say. 

"That's very chivalrous of you, but what about _you_?" Hermione says. "Are you... did you get infected?" 

I give a small nod, stretching and sitting up. Grim, disturbed from where he was laying, jumps down to the floor and looks up at me in concern. 

"There isn't any cure for lycanthropy," Hermione says quietly. "I'm sorry... if I hadn't suggested that we go--" 

"Don't you start blaming yourself, too," I say. "Relax. Be glad that you still have me around at all, and that I wasn't killed instead." 

"But if you'd been killed, at least then you wouldn't have to deal with being a werewolf," Hermione says. 

I shrug. "I'll live, alright? It was foolish, yes, but I can't regret it. I did manage to keep _you_ safe, after all." 

"Oh, Stormseeker," Hermione murmurs, throwing her arms around my neck. "How can you say you aren't brave when you wind up doing things like that?" 

I chuckle softly. "Hey, it was only a werewolf and not a Dementor," I say. "No big deal, right?" 

Grim seems to be panting in amusement.


	56. Dog Days of Winter

I'm glad when the full moon is over. The next one I have to look forward to appears to be a couple days after Christmas. Wonderful. And Moony has been going through this his entire life? I'm not about to complain, however. I'll deal with it. 

At least I have great friends, for the most part. This seems like a minor secret compared to the time travel and the fact that I'm not really Harry Potter, though. Just another complication to add to an already complicated life. 

"I thought you said he was safe," Blaise says. 

"It was my mistake," I say. "Don't blame him for it." 

"Are you going to be alright?" Neville asks. 

"I'm fine," I insist. 

Truthfully, although I'm determined to stick it out, I'm not sure how many lunar cycles I'll be able to handle. By the time I knew I was infected, it had been too late to jump back anyway. As tempted as I might be, I'm not about to try to seek out something that would cause a full reset over something like this. The basilisk is dead already, and I'm not certain what else would cause that sort of effect. I'm sure I'll run across something eventually... but I refuse to intentionally abandon my friends. 

"Sure, I see how it is," Draco says. "You were willing to risk yourself to save Hermione, but not me. And here I was starting to think you weren't interested in girls." 

"Draco!" I say. "I'm not-- I don't-- gah, never mind!" 

Blaise definitely seems to be uneasy around me, and Dean is more openly afraid of me than usual, but the rest of them seem to take my 'furry little problem' pretty much in stride. 

I'm planning to spend Christmas with the Longbottoms again, although the others are going home to their respective families for this holiday instead, so it'll just be me, Neville, and his grandmother, for the most part. I wonder what we should do about Grim in the meantime. 

Neville sends an owl back to his grandmother asking if it's alright to bring the dog with us when we come visit for the holiday, and Augusta agrees, provided the dog is well-behaved. On the day before taking the Hogwarts Express out, I slip into the Slytherin dormitories to get Grim moved. 

"Alright, boy, come on," Draco says. "You can't stay here, since none of us are staying at Hogwarts over holiday, so we're going to take you to the Longbottom estate for Christmas. You want to visit the Longbottoms?" 

Grim cocks his head thoughtfully, then gives a nod of his head. 

"Good boy," Draco says. "Let's go. We're going to take you through the Floo." 

The two of us bring Grim down to the common room. There's a handful of Slytherins about at the moment doing homework and playing Exploding Snap, but most of them don't even bother looking up. They've already seen the dog around several times, and seem to have collectively determined that it's not their business. Nobody has breathed a word about him to the teachers. 

"Is taking a dog through the Floo really going to work?" I wonder. 

"Sure, why not?" Draco says. "Although it might not be particularly comfortable, I suppose." He pulls out a bit of Floo powder and passes some over to me. 

Uncomfortable would be an understatement, especially considering the trouble I have with Floo travel to begin with. I feel like I'm being bounced around this way and that, colliding into walls, getting squeezed into spaces too tight for me, and then landing with a dog butt in my face. 

"There you are, boys," Augusta says, greeting us. "I hope the trip wasn't too bad." 

I push Grim off of me with a bit of a glare. "Worse than a Gringotts' cart," I say brightly. 

"And this is the dog Neville mentioned, I take it," Augusta says. "My, he _is_ a big one, isn't he." 

"He was nothing but skin and bones when we found him in Hogsmeade," Draco says. "But we've been fattening him right up with proper meals." 

"An awfully nice thing you've done here," Augusta says. "You'd best get back to school, though. I'll meet you at Kings Cross tomorrow, Harry." 

"See you then, Gran," I say. 

Much as I don't like spending the next full moon wasting my holiday, at least it's probably best that I won't be at school for it. I can get Neville to cover for me, and there won't be a problem. I have no idea how Augusta might react if she found out, so I'd best be careful. 

And much as I enjoy classes and learning whatever I can, I can definitely use a holiday every now and then. Although sometimes I have to force myself to actually relax, and not just take the excuse to have more time for self-study. 

"Stormseeker," Neville tells me quietly. "We're going to be visiting St. Mungo's on Christmas Eve. To, you know, visit my parents. Do you want to come along with us, or would you rather stay here?" 

"Your parents?" I say. "They're still alive? I'm sorry, I guess I just kind of assumed they were dead, like the Potters..." 

Neville nods sheepishly. "They're... alive, but not really all there. They don't even recognize me, or really know what's going on around them most of the time." 

"That's terrible," I say. "What happened to them? If you don't mind me asking." 

"It's alright," Neville says. "You've told me some pretty big secrets yourself, I'd feel silly if I couldn't talk to you about it. They were tortured, you see. With the Cruciatus Curse. The Lestranges tortured them, until their minds just couldn't handle it anymore. At least the ones who did it are in Azkaban now..." 

I put a hand on Neville's shoulder reassuringly. Maybe there _are_ people who deserve to go to Azkaban after all. "I'll go," I say quietly. 

"Thanks, Stormseeker," Neville says. 

I've never been inside of St. Mungo's Wizarding Hospital before, which is probably just as well, since anytime I'm badly injured enough to have needed to, I'm usually dead in short order anyway. I follow along with Neville and Augusta, who seem to know where they're going, to the Permanent Spell Damage Ward. 

Frank and Alice Longbottom are a sad sight to see. They don't even really seem to be aware of us being there at all. Then, when Alice seems to have an almost lucid moment, she gives Neville a candy wrapper. Neville takes it delicately like a precious gift, and then his mother goes back to not seeing him again. 

"Neville," I say, taking him aside and lowering my voice. "If ever in space and time I come across a way to cure them, or save them, or prevent this from happening, I will do so. I promise you that." 

"Thank you, Stormseeker," Neville whispers. "That means a lot to me." 

When we return to the Longbottoms' home that evening, Grim is nowhere to be found. I look all over the big house, and in the gardens out back, and find no sign of him. My heart sinks a little as I fear that he might have run away while we were out. 

"Has anyone seen Grim?" I ask. 

"Not I," Augusta says. "Come to think, I'm not sure if I saw him this morning, either." 

"Maybe he was just hungry," Neville says. 

"I hope he comes back..." I murmur. 

* * *

Christmas morning, amid the presents under the three, there's a big black dog waiting for me. He lifts his head, pants and wags his tail as he seems me approach. I beam broadly and go up to give him a hug. 

"There you are, boy," I say. "I was worried about you. Didn't like being left home alone, did you? Sorry about that." 

Grim cocks his head at me, and then continues to pant. 

"Good doggy," Neville says, coming up and patting the dog on the back. "Why don't we see what non-canine presents we've got laying around here?" 

Neville and I start opening up our presents. In addition to large quantities of candy from many people, there's a few things of more lasting interest. Dumbledore sent me a small package containing the Marauder's Map, along with a note stating, "While I wish I had the time to watch the castle with this, perhaps you could put it to better use than I." 

"What's that?" Neville asks. 

"It's a magic map of Hogwarts," I say. "Watch this. I solemnly swear I am up to no good." I tap the map, and the work of Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail appears on the formerly blank parchment before us. Grim peers over to it with interest. 

"Who made it?" Neville asks. "I assume those must be nicknames." 

"Moony would be Professor Lupin, I believe," I say, frowning thoughtfully, remembering the name he asked me to call him. It hadn't occurred to me that he was one of those who made the map, but I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else. "And the others I assume were James Potter, Sirius Black, and, um, whoever the other guy was." 

"Peter Pettigrew?" Neville says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Was that his name?" I ask. 

Grim is letting out a low growl, laying his ears back against his head. 

"Yeah," Neville says. "They say when Sirius Black killed him, all they could find of him afterward was his little finger." 

Grim is shaking his head a bit. 

"Something wrong, Grim?" I ask. 

Grim looks up at me and whimpers pathetically. 

"You want some of these treats?" I say. "You like Pumpkin Pasties? Here you go." I toss him the food, and he starts gobbling it up. "Mischief managed," I say, poking the map with my wand to blank it again. 

I pull open a number of presents from assorted Slytherins that appear to be fascinating books on questionable material, a couple objects that tingle with dark magic, and one rather disturbing shrunken head. 

"Better put these away before your gran sees them," I murmur, shoving them into my bag of holding. 

Moony sent me a book on defensive charms, along with a letter saying, "Send me an owl before the start of term if you get a chance. I'll rework my course schedule for you to teach anything you want to learn in class." 

Draco's gift for me appears to be a Remembrall. "Remember these?" he writes. "This one does one better, though. It'll turn black if it detects that you've been Obliviated. It turns black when my father touches it, but he just dismissed it as a useless bauble. It stays clear for me, though. I guess those Dementors must have broken through the Obliviation used on me in the worst way possible." 

Hermione gave me a lunascope. "This shows the phases of the moon without having to use moon charts," she writes. "I know Astronomy was never your best subject." 

I open up the present from Neville, revealing a wrist chain that attaches to the end of your wand to keep from you from losing your wand. 

"I know it's not much, but--" Neville begins. 

"It's brilliant," I say. "I hate being disarmed or getting my wand knocked out of my hand." 

Theodore sent a book titled _The Magic of Diplomacy: How to Get People to Do What You Want Without Spells or Potions_. That looks even more exciting than the books of spells I've been given. 

Blaise gave me a box of chocolates in a purple box. "These are Dream Sweets," he writes. "Eat one before bed, and you'll have nothing but pleasant dreams." I'm used to nightmares and tend to just ignore them anymore, but this might be a good way to counteract that, at least for a bit. 

Dean's present is a toy figurine of Yoda, the Jedi Master who looks a lot like a goblin. 

Luna sent me a bottle of wrackspurt repellant. "It's a new formula developed by my father," she writes. "We're not sure how well it works yet, but feel free to try it out." 

Finally, there's an anonymous present, a penknife with attachments to open any lock and untie any knot. It looks like a very useful device, but I wonder who gave it to me? 

"Who sent that one?" Neville asks. 

Grim barks enthusiastically, bouncing up and down and wagging his tail. 

"I don't know," I say. "I should probably have someone look over this, along with some of the Slytherins' presents, to make sure they aren't cursed or anything." 

Grim cocks his head at me and whimpers a little. 

"I'll ask Moony to do it," I say. "Dumbledore would just give me disapproving looks." 

Grim barks happily. 

"You got so many more presents than me," Neville says. "I suppose that's understandable. You're a very popular person." 

"Among the wrong crowd at times," I murmur, pointing at the now-empty packages the Slytherins sent me. "I wish I could have been friends with the Weasleys. But it's far too late for that. Not in this lifetime." I shake my head. "And for all the wonderful things people get me, I always feel like my own gifts to them are inadequate." 

"I've always liked what you've given me," Neville assures me. All I'd gotten him this year was another Herbology book. 

"Neville," I say. "Of anything that would be physically possible for me to obtain, what would you most like to see?" 

"I couldn't ask for more," Neville says. "You've already done so much for me." 

I shake my head and put my finger to his lips. "Just answer the question, Neville. I mean it. Think about it." 

"Well, I'm not sure..." Neville says, looking around to make sure his grandmother still isn't anywhere within earshot. "But I always wondered if I might be able to do magic better with a wand of my own." 

I look at him in surprise. "You aren't using a wand that specifically chose you?" 

Neville shakes his head. "My gran insisted that I use my father's wand," he says. "It was hard to get any sort of response out of it at all for a while. I thought at first it was because I was almost a Squib. But the way you and the others have been helping me with my magic, I think I'm pretty clearly _not_ a Squib. So I started wondering--" 

I grab Neville's hand and lead him over to the fireplace. "Let's find out," I say. 

"What?" Neville says. "Where are we--" 

"We're going to see Ollivander," I say. "Right now." I look to the dog. "Grim, if Gran shows up, can you distract her so she doesn't notice we're gone?" 

Grim barks happily. 

"Good dog," I say. I toss a bit of Floo powder into the fire, and say, "Diagon Alley!" 

Diagon Alley is cold and fairly quiet at the moment, and I hope that Ollivander is even in today. There's a few people scurrying about doing some very last minute Christmas shopping, a couple of families who seem to have decided to eat out today, and a handful of people trying to ignore the festivities altogether. 

I drag Neville into Ollivander's shop and peer about. Sure enough, the old man comes out to the front after a few moments. 

"Good day, Mr. Chelseer," Ollivander says. "Is your wand still serving you well? Pine, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. "And I wanted to buy a surprise last-minute Christmas present for my friend here, Neville Longbottom." 

"Ah, Longbottom," Ollivander says. "I remember when I sold your parents their wands..." He starts to go on about Neville's parents, and neither of us care to interrupt. 

"I've been using my father's wand," Neville says after a bit. 

"Yes, a fine wand, but you would probably get a better response from a wand of your own," Ollivander says. "I'm glad you came here. Let's see about getting you paired up with a more suitable match, shall we?" 

Ollivander starts bringing out wands for Neville to test, going through a large pile of them before finally coming up with one that he's satisfied with. Cherry and unicorn hair, thirteen inches. 

"Merlin, I never realized how big a difference it could make," Neville says, brandishing his new wand with a bright gleam in his eyes. "It's like I've been wearing shoes that didn't fit for my entire life..." 

I beam at Neville, and count out the galleons for Ollivander. "Ollivander, sir, if you remember, could you tell me about what year you made that wand?" I ask. 

"That one?" Ollivander says. "Hmm, I believe it was sometime in 1989." 

"Thank you, sir," I say. "I think we should hurry back, now. Wouldn't want to leave Gran alone with the dog for too long on Christmas." 

Neville and I get back to the Longbottom estate. The parlor is empty, and the sound of barking can be heard from down the hallway. We head down that way to see what's going on. 

"No, you may not have more treats!" Augusta is telling Grim. "No matter what pathetic look you give me." 

Grim barks, leans down with his butt in the air, and wags his tail. 

"And I'm not going to play with you, either," Augusta says, glancing up to see us. "Boys! Do pay more attention to this dog. He seems to be bored." 

I chuckle softly. "Guess he didn't like that the presents were getting more attention than he was. Here, boy. Come on." I pat my leg, and Grim bounds up toward me, jumps up and licks my face. 

After breakfast, I skim through today's _Daily Prophet_. Sirius Black had apparently been sighted near Ottery St. Catchpole on Christmas Eve. 

"What do you suppose he was doing down there?" Neville wonders. "Last time he was spotted, it was near Hogsmeade. And now he's on the other side of the country?" 

I snort softly. "Maybe they should get the Dementors away from Hogwarts, then. Idiots." 

Grim barks happily. 

"They're still probably afraid that he'll try to attack you," Neville says. 

"Doubly idiots," I say, shaking my head. "Dementors are more dangerous than any human could ever be." 

That evening, I send Solomon off with a letter to Moony. "Thank you for the book," I write. "It looks really great. All this talk of dark creatures is fine and all, but what I'd really like to learn is spells, especially given the difficulty I have with charms." And I'd much rather know how to cast a proper Shield Charm than how to deal with hinkypunks. I hate taking advantage of Moony's guilt and good will, but maybe it'll make him feel a bit better, too, knowing that there's something he could do to help make it up to me a bit. 

I also get started immediately on the book Theodore sent me. It seems a bit slimy, manipulating people, but the way the book makes it sound, diplomacy is supposed to be a _good_ thing. And it acknowledges that it's often a give and take. Very often, you can convince people to go along with what you want by agreeing to give them something in return for it, or do something for them. I hadn't really thought about that as such before, even though that's what I've been doing sometimes. 

Then, before bed, I pull out one of the candies Blaise sent me and pop it into my mouth. It's almost sickeningly sweet, and practically melts in my mouth. 

I have no nightmares tonight. Just the best dreams I can remember having in a long time. I dream of Wishingsdale, where my friends and family are all safe and happy amid dancing purple horses and singing flowers. I dream of a glorious battle, vanquishing my enemies and crushing them beneath my heel. I have a very _interesting_ dream involving Snape, that I'm definitely _never_ going to tell him about. 

I might have to ask Blaise where he got those things when I get back to school. These are great. 

* * *

"I'd best head for bed," I tell Neville. "The full moon starts tonight. You'll cover for me, right, Neville?" 

"Of course," Neville says. 

"Thanks, Neville," I say, grinning at him and heading upstairs. 

Grim follows along after me, bounding into my room before I can close the door behind me. He plops his butt firmly on the floor and looks up at me pointedly. 

"What, you don't want to leave me alone?" I say. "You want to keep me company?" 

Grim barks affirmatively. 

"Well, alright, then," I say. " _Colloportus. Muffliato._ " The door locks, and hopefully the privacy charm will keep Augusta from hearing anything out of the ordinary. "And I've got my wolfsbane potion, so everything will be alright." 

I pull out the potion Snape gave me and drink it down. Why does every potion in this world seem to have a different variety of nasty flavor? Snape wanted Professor Lupin removed at once when he found out what had happened. Thankfully, Dumbledore and I were able to talk him down. I get the impression that Snape really, really does not like Lupin. 

"I hope Moony's alright by himself," I say. 

Grim lets out a soft whimper. 

"He felt so awful about this all," I say. "I was afraid he was going to do something rash because of it. He kept trying to comfort _me_ , when _he_ was the one who needed comforting more." 

I set my wand safely aside on the dresser and sit down on the floor next to Grim. The dog puts his head in my lap and looks up at me with big, knowing eyes. 

"And that just leaves nobody left to comfort me," I say. "It's all pity, when they can seem to decide what they should be feeling at all. But I don't need anyone's pity. I can appreciate they're trying to be nice and all, but... you know what I'm saying?" 

Grim whimpers a little and cuddles up against me. I laugh softly and give him a hug. 

"Yeah, that's what I needed," I say. "Not pity, just doggy cuddles. Thanks." 

I glance out the window. It's a dark, overcast evening, but I can feel the pull of the moon in my very blood, burning within me like acid. I disengage from Grim. 

"It's starting," I murmur. 

It's better with the wolfsbane potion, since I don't lose touch with my mind, but the transformation is still very painful. My body is being forced and contorted into a different form against its will. Bones moving, fur sprouting, face morphing... and then it's over. 

Once the transformation is complete, it's not so bad. I know it'll take a toll on me later, but while I'm actually transformed, I feel alive, full of energy, like I could do anything. Aggressive, hungry, violent energy, admittedly. But with the potion, I can control it. I won't be attacking anyone on blind instinct. 

Come morning, I'll be exhausted, sore, drained of all energy. Thankfully, by the time the new school term starts, I'll have had a chance to recover. 

But for now, I have a furry best friend to spend some time with. I'm very much glad that Grim is here.


	57. Ratted Out

The first night back at Hogwarts, I go to see Moony in his office. "How was your holiday?" I ask. Draco said he could get Grim back into the Slytherin dorms through the Floo again by himself, so I'll just let him take care of that and not have to deal with it. Stupid Floo. 

"Well enough," Moony says. "Thank you for the chocolates and the book you sent me. _Dragons of Autumn Twilight_ , huh? Looks entertaining. I don't really think I deserve any presents from you, though..." 

"Nuh-huh," I say, leaning close and putting a finger to his lips. "You are not allowed to mope, you hear me? Draco always verbally kicks my ass if I ever try to mope, so I'm damned well going to return the favor to you." 

Moony shakes his head faintly, and his lips quirk a little, but he doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. 

"Now, I wanted to ask you for a hand with something," I say. "I got a number of interesting looking Christmas presents. Do you think you could look over them and make sure there's nothing cursed or whatnot?" 

"Ah, certainly," Moony says. "Leave them here and I'll go over them when I have a chance, and return to them to you when I clear them." 

"Alright," I say. I pull out the various gifts that I received from people I don't fully trust, and set them on the desk. 

Moony frowns as he looks over the books and relics. "Your friends seem to have questionable tastes, Stormseeker." 

"Not really my friends," I say. "Some anonymous, some from Slytherins I don't really know who seem to be under the impression that I'm going to be the next Dark Lord." I roll my eyes. 

"As a professor, I should probably be confiscating some of these things rather than giving them back to you," Moony says. "But if you really want them, I suppose I don't really have any place to argue. What did your friends give you?" 

"You want to see?" I say, grinning. "I'm sure none of them would ever send me anything bad, though, but I'll show you." I start pulling out the presents from my bag of holding one by one. "This one was from Draco." 

"Draco Malfoy sent you a Remembrall?" Moony says. "That seems awfully tame for what I'd expect of his family." 

"You can't judge somebody by their family," I say. "Hmm, Dean's present is in here somewhere." 

"That's very true," Moony admits as I pull out the little figurine. "Ah, it's Yoda! I was in sixth year when the first _Star Wars_ movie came out. I dragged my friends out to a Muggle cinema to see it." He chuckles softly. "Nobody even batted an eye at us despite the fact that some of us were wearing robes. Good times." He smiles wistfully. 

"Hermione sent me this," I say, holding up the lunascope. "And Luna, well, probably best not to even ask about that. And Blaise gave me this candy." 

Moony frowns as he looks at the box. "Dream Sweets?" he says. "Harry, those are very addictive, not to mention illegal. You haven't eaten any of them, have you?" He takes it from me and looks inside the half empty box. "Oh, that's not good." 

"Addictive?" I say. "No, I trust Blaise, he wouldn't have sent me anything bad. And they're great." 

"Yes, too great, that's the problem," Moony says. "When you go off of them, you're going to have horrible nightmares every night that you took them, and that'll only get worse the more you use them." 

I snort softly. "I _already_ have horrible nightmares every night. I've been quite grateful to him." 

"I would really rather you hadn't touched this stuff at all," Moony says. 

I shake my head a bit. "That's my choice, isn't it? I'm willing to accept the risks, and I think the tradeoff is worth it." 

"Have you really been through that much hell?" Moony asks me quietly. 

I sigh. "You don't know the half of it." I take the box back from him and put it in my bag, and he doesn't try to stop me. "I can't even sleep at night unless I put up a Revulsion Curse over my bed, because I'm so afraid of letting down my guard." 

"I see," Moony says. "I wish I could have been there for you..." 

"You're blaming yourself again," I say, looking at him firmly and smirking. "Stop that." 

"You're a remarkable young man, you know that, Stormseeker?" Moony says. "Alright, I suppose I have no place to argue. What else did you get?" 

"Let's see. Theodore got me this book. And Neville got me this," I say, pointing to the chain on my left wrist. "And Dumbledore, well... I think you're probably familiar with this one." I pull out the blank parchment from my bag and spread it out. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Moony asks. 

I grin, and point my wand at the parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

"I thought that was lost for good," Moony says, looking at the map. "And Dumbledore just gave it to you?" 

"The Weasley twins had it for a while, apparently," I say. "So which one was my father?" 

"Prongs," Moony says. "Because he could turn into a stag." 

"Could you tell me about them?" I ask. "I know you might not want to talk about it. But I think it's better to remember the good times, and not the bad..." 

"You're right," Moony says. "Very well. Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew. He could turn into a rat. Padfoot was Sirius Black, and he could turn into a big, black dog. As you might have guessed, we called ourselves the Marauders." 

And a big, black dog. I mask my surprise, glad for my Occlumency training, and carefully keep a neutral expression. I think I'm going to have to have a nice long talk with a certain canine shortly. I yawn compulsively. 

"Ah, it's already after curfew," Moony says. "Sorry I kept you so long, Stormseeker. I'll walk you back to your common room so you don't get into trouble." 

"That's alright, I'll just use my cloak," I say. I pull out the invisibility cloak from my bag and slip it over me. 

"As a professor, I should say something disapproving here," Moony says, chuckling and shaking his head. "Run along, then." 

I head for the Slytherin common room. Along the way, I take a look at the Marauder's Map, peering at it intently. There, in the third year Slytherin boys' dorm, along with the names who should be there, sure enough, there's Sirius Black. I find myself laughing softly. The Marauder's Map doesn't lie. It doesn't even recognize _me_ as Harry Potter. It still thinks that I'm definitely Lexen Chelseer. I suppose it's a good thing the Weasley twins were apparently not very attentive to detail, or they would have noticed me years ago. 

I reach the entrance to the common room and put away the map. "Aconite," I say. Hmm, no, that's not the current password. I try a few others, but no luck, looks like it's been changed for this term. "Damn," I mutter. 

I stand around for a few minutes, considering just heading back to the Gryffindor dorm, and then realize that I forgot to get the new password for that, too. I'd gone straight to see Moony instead. Oops. I really am an idiot sometimes. 

Then, just as I'm thinking of giving up and heading back to see Moony, Gemma comes down the corridor and approaches the entrance to the Slytherin common room. 

"Hello, Gemma," I say, pulling off the hood of my cloak. 

"Who-- Oh, it's just you, Harry," Gemma says. "What are you doing out here?" 

"Being an idiot," I say. "Forgot to get the new password." 

"You know this isn't actually your common room, right?" Gemma says, smirking. 

"Isn't it?" I say, feigning surprise. "Dear me, it must have completely slipped my mind!" I laugh. 

Gemma snickers. "Alright, five points from Gryffindor for being out of bounds after curfew," Gemma says. "Lunaphobia." The wall opens up. "You'd better get inside quick before anyone else sees you out here. Or doesn't see you, as the case may be." 

"Thanks, Gemma," I say, grinning. I pull the hood over my head again and slip inside, and head over to the third year boys' dorm. 

The five Slytherin boys are in their dorm at the moment, getting ready for bed. I pull off my cloak and stuff it into my bag of holding. 

"Stormseeker?" Draco says, looking over at me in surprise. "Decided to move in with us instead?" 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus. Locus Timoris_ ," I cast, and then snap off in the tone normally reserved for Dueling Club, "Storm Army, _wands_." The five of them look at me for a moment in confusion, but they all pull out their wands in quick order at the command. "Target the dog, but hold your fire for now. Stunners only, but don't attack unless I give the signal or he makes a wrong move." 

"What's going on, Stormseeker?" Blaise asks. 

The dog looks up at me in confusion and lets out a soft whine. 

"Nothing much," I drawl. "I'm quite certain that Sirius Black has a perfectly good explanation for this, and I would like to hear it from his mouth in short order." 

"Sirius--" Draco says. 

The dog's form shifts and changes, and in a moment, an unkempt man with wild, haunted eyes is sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. 

"I knew it," Draco says. "I _knew_ you weren't just some ordinary dog." 

"I'm sorry," Sirius says. "I didn't mean to deceive you. Not my godson, Harry Potter, of all people." 

"Wait, you're my godfather?" I ask. 

"Yeah, I am," Sirius says. 

"Is this all some sort of bad joke?" I say. 

"No, of course not," Sirius says. 

"Alright, fine, forget that," I say. "Explanation. Now." 

"I was trying to get into the castle to kill that traitor, Peter Pettigrew," Sirius says. "But when I saw you, I thought I might be able to spend some time with my godson as well. And it was nice to be able to get some good food and sleep somewhere warm and dry for a change..." 

"Understandable," I say. "Peter Pettigrew is alive?" 

"He's the Weasleys' pet rat," Sirius says. "I saw a picture in the _Daily Prophet_ of them on a trip to Egypt." 

"Keep wands ready, Storm Army," I say. I pull out the Marauder's Map and open it up. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." I peer at the map, locating the third year boys' dorm in the Gryffindor Tower. Sure enough, amidst the other names that should be there, is Peter Pettigrew. "He's telling the truth." 

"It was Peter who betrayed your parents, Harry," Sirius says. "He was the Secret-Keeper, not me. But I as good as killed them. I begged them to change to him at the last minute. I thought Peter would be a less obvious choice." 

"Back up," I say. "Immediate concern, are you going to attempt to run away or hurt anyone I care about?" 

"No," Sirius says. "I'd never hurt a hair on your head, or touch any of your friends, Harry." 

"Storm Army, stand down," I say. The five Slytherins put their wands away. "Alright then. Let's talk." 

"I'm surprised that all these Slytherins do what you say without blinking an eye," Sirius says. 

"He's normally pretty laid back," Draco says. "But when he starts barking orders, he fucking means _business_." 

I sit down on the floor across from Sirius and rub my eyes. "Alright," I say. "Secret-Keeper. What in the Abyss are you talking about?" 

"You didn't know?" Sirius says. "The Potters were hidden from Voldemort under the Fidelius Charm. That's a really complicated, advanced piece of magic. It keeps a secret safe, and nobody can find out the secret unless the designated Secret-Keeper tells it to them. Nobody else can pass it along." 

"Sounds useful," I say. "Go on." 

"But Peter betrayed the Potters," Sirius explains. "Sold them out to Voldemort. When I found out, I went after him in a rage. But he framed me, faked his own death, blew up the whole street, cut off his little finger, and got away in the form of a rat." 

"Wasn't Remus Lupin one of your friends?" I ask. "Shouldn't he have known who the Secret-Keeper was?" 

"I'm ashamed to say that I thought _he_ was the spy," Sirius says, head drooping. "Perhaps, in hindsight, it wasn't such a brilliant idea to switch the Secret-Keeper and have everyone think it was me instead." 

I nod. "I see. But why didn't you tell me all of this sooner?" 

"I was afraid," Sirius says. "I didn't know how you'd react. I was afraid you'd freak out, or attack me, or something, and I wouldn't have a chance to tell you the truth. And I was kind of enjoying being your dog..." 

I nod again. "Okay." 

Sirius stares at me. "What, just like that? Just _okay_?" 

Draco is laughing aloud. "It takes a lot more than that to shake the Stormseeker." 

"It's not like you actually lied to me or anything," I say, shrugging. "And you were a damned good dog. You kept trying to nudge me toward the truth in some way that wouldn't blow your cover, weren't you." 

"Yeah..." Sirius says. "But what about the rest of you?" He glances around at the others. 

"We're Slytherins," Theodore says, shrugging. "It's not like any of _us_ would be especially upset to have an escaped convict in our midst." 

"I say it was brilliant, getting out of Azkaban like that," Draco says. "I just have to wonder why you didn't do it sooner, if you could do that." 

Sirius looks at the floor. "The Dementors couldn't completely destroy me. I knew I was innocent, and I held onto that thought. They affected me less in my animal form, too. But I still didn't have the will to get out until I had a target. That gave me the focus I needed... It wasn't a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn't take it away." 

"I understand," I say quietly. "Damn the Dementors, anyway." 

"And when I get my hands on Peter, I'm going to rip him apart," Sirius snarls. 

I grin broadly. "I'll help catch him," I offer. 

"I'll dispose of the body," Theodore adds lightly. 

"Nobody else even knows Peter Pettigrew is still alive, so we won't even need to cover up that he's gone missing," I say. "The only one who will care what happened to the rat is Ron." 

Sirius looks at us incredulously. "I should probably be more disturbed that you kids are willing to help me commit the murder I was imprisoned for to begin with." 

"We're Slytherins," Draco says. 

"Harry isn't," Sirius says. 

"He might as well be," Draco says. 

"I should probably find that disturbing, too," Sirius says. 

"Except for his tendency to do reckless and stupidly brave things in order to protect people," Draco adds. 

"And I'd prefer if you called me Stormseeker," I say. 

"Alright, Stormseeker," Sirius says. "So, can you go and catch Wormtail right now?" 

I shake my head. "I didn't get the Gryffindor password for this term. I'm stuck here tonight. I'll have to ask my Gryffindor friends what it is at breakfast." 

"I'm this close, I don't want him to slip away again," Sirius says. 

"Relax, he's been there for years, I don't think he's going anywhere just now," I say. 

"If you're going to sleep here tonight, Stormseeker, you can use my bed," Theodore offers. 

"Nah, I think I'll just sleep on the floor with the dog," I say. 

"Nonsense," Draco says. "I'll at least bring a couch in." 

As Draco goes to haul in a couch from the common room, Sirius turns to me and says quietly, "I was afraid, if you found out, you'd reject me at the very least, throw me out, wouldn't want me around anymore..." 

I shake my head. "No, I really can't blame you," I say. "And honestly, I really should have noticed sooner that you weren't just an ordinary dog, anyway. Well, I did, but I guess I'm just used to treating everything that seems remotely intelligent like people. I always figure it's better to treat something with too much respect than too little. It keeps me from getting mauled by hippogriffs and stabbed in the eye by free-born elves." 

Draco comes back with a levitating couch floating along in front of him, and drops it in the room. "You know, I just realized magic is kind of stupid," Draco comments. 

"What part of it?" I ask. 

"The incantations," Draco says. "I just cast _Mobilicouchus_ , and it worked." 

I laugh aloud, and Sirius snickers and says, "I would've just used a Hover Charm." 

"Yeah, yeah, like you can criticize," Draco says. "Do you even have a wand?" 

"Just one I nicked off someone else," Sirius says. "Not my old one, not one matched to me. That one's gone forever, I'm afraid." 

"Good enough for now," I say. "We'll have to see about remedying that sometime. Oh, and Sirius..." I pull out the cloak from my bag. "I think you could use this more than me at the moment. Just don't run off with it and disappear and leave me hanging, please. The current password for the Slytherin common room is 'lunaphobia'." 

"Thanks," Sirius says, accepting it with a grin. "I won't leave you, Stormseeker. But it'll be nice to get out of this place now and then. I'll just need to watch out for Filch and his damned cat." 

"Filch is dead," I say. "Got a good look at a basilisk last year. Nobody's replaced him since. I guess Dumbledore couldn't find any other cranky Squibs to fill the position." 

"Hah," Sirius says. "Good riddance, I say." 

"Alright, I'm going to get some rest," I say. "Good night, all." 

As I surreptitiously pop a Dream Sweet into my mouth before going to sleep, I catch Blaise casting a grin at me. 

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Neville says, "Stormseeker! You weren't in our dorm last night. What happened?" 

"Heh, got locked out," I say. "Forgot to get the new password for this term, so I wound up spending the night with the Slytherins instead." 

"It's 'scurvy cur'," Hermione tells me. 

We take a seat at the Slytherin table for breakfast and start to eat. I toss up a privacy charm over my inner circle, and say, "Alright, guys, we've got a small project ahead of us. We're going to catch ourselves a rat." 

"You aren't talking about Ron Weasley's rat, are you?" Hermione says. 

"Precisely," I say lightly. I fill the Gryffindors and Luna in about Sirius and Peter. 

"So, wait," Neville says. "You mean to tell us that Grim is actually _Sirius Black_?" 

"That's right," I say. 

"We really should just turn him in and get him a fair trial," Hermione says. 

"I don't trust the Ministry to give anyone a fair trial," I say. "I don't trust for a moment anyone that thinks that putting Dementors around a school full of children is a good idea." 

"So what are we going to do if we can catch Peter?" Hermione says. "Tie him up and let Sirius kill him?" 

"Pretty much, yeah," I say. 

Hermione sighs. "The things you have me doing. But I'll concede that if he truly did betray the Potters to the Dark Lord, he probably has it coming. Still, I'd like to hear his reasoning first. It might have been forced out of him against his will and he's spent the last decade feeling guilty about it." 

"If it were me, I'd just kill him," Draco says. 

"You would," Hermione says. 

"Alright, after dinner, we'll see about catching this rat," Neville says. "How hard can it be?" 

I groan softly. "Don't say things like that." 

* * *

"Alright, class," Professor Lupin says. "We covered a number of dangerous creatures last term, but we're going to be moving on to some practical spellwork now." 

"Professor, I thought we were going to be covering red caps next!" Hermione protests. 

"Yes, well, there's been a change in curriculum," Lupin says. 

"Oh dear," Hermione says. "I already read up on all the creatures we were supposed to be dealing with!" 

"Five points to Gryffindor for your diligent study, Hermione," Lupin says with a small grin. "This term, I'm going to be teaching you the Shield Charm. This is a fairly advanced spell and not one normally taught to third years, but this group seems to be quite accomplished for your age, so you may well be able to handle it. Also, it's an open question whether you will have a competent teacher in the following school years who will be able to teach it to you." 

"Aren't you going to stay, Professor Lupin?" Lavender asks. 

"Much as I would like to, I fear that the curse upon this position may make that impossible," Lupin says. 

"I think you're just pandering to the Stormseeker," Ron says. "Do you really think that most of us are going to be able to cast that?" 

"I have my full confidence in you, Ron," Lupin says. 

Ron grumbles a little, but doesn't protest any further. 

"Now, the incantation for the Shield Charm is _Protego_ ," Lupin says. "And these are the wand movements. Allow me to demonstrate..." 

* * *

Before dinner, I go up to the Defense office to have a little chat with Moony about what's going on. 

"Hello, Stormseeker," Moony says. "I haven't finished with your presents yet, but I haven't detected anything that would be harmful to you yet." 

I nod. "There's something I need to speak with you about, Moony. There's something you should see." I pull out the Marauder's Map and spread it out, and say, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." I then point to the two dorms on the map where Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black are. 

"What's this?" Moony says in alarm. "Peter is alive? And Sirius is inside the castle? What's going on?" 

"Peter was the traitor, not Sirius," I say. "James and Lily switched to Peter as their Secret-Keeper at the last minute and didn't tell anyone. They thought _you_ were the spy, and didn't realize it was really Peter." 

"Did Sirius tell you that?" Moony asks. 

I nod. "And I believe him. But we're planning to capture Peter tonight and get some answers out of him. I imagine you'd want to be involved, so that's why I came to tell you this." 

"I see," Moony says. "Yes, of course I do." 

"Meet us in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, then," I say. 

"I'll be there," Moony says. 

* * *

I check the map again. Ron and Seamus are in the common room. Peter Pettigrew is in the third year boys' dorm room. Now's the time to strike. Neville, Dean, and Hermione are with me, in addition to Moony. 

"On alert," I say quietly. "Wands at ready." The others nod, and the five of us move in. "Seal exits." 

In unison, we cast spells to block every way out of the room, even ones that only a rat could get through. I creep over toward Ron's bed, where the rat is resting. Sound asleep. I gingerly reach over and pick up the rat with my right hand, pointing my wand at him with my left. 

" _Stupefy_ ," I say, and the rat flops in my hand as he goes from asleep to unconscious. "You know, that was a little anticlimactic." 

"You're the one who thought it was going to be hard," Neville says. 

"Things _always_ go wrong around me," I say. "Mark my words." 

"You're paranoid," Neville says. 

"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you," I say. 

"It's always good to be overprepared than to be caught off guard," Moony agrees. 

I pocket the rat. "Let's get this bugger down for an interrogation." 

We head down to the sleeping dragon tapestry room, where the Slytherins are already waiting. I cast some spells over the door when we come inside to ensure we aren't interrupted. Sirius pulls off the invisibility cloak and gives a wild, murderous grin. He and Remus meet eyes for a moment, but they say no words to one another yet. 

"Alright, no rat holes he can slip away to in here?" I ask. 

"We checked the room good, boss," Crabbe says. 

I'd wanted to do this down in the Chamber of Secrets, but dismissed that idea as impractical. I don't even know the Parseltongue word that will change the slide into stairs to get out again easily, so I'd rather not go down there unless I just want to get another book out or something. 

I put the rat down on the floor. "Make a circle around the rat," I say. "Wands at ready. Stun him if he tries to escape. _Rennervate_." 

The rat wakes, and looks around in a panic as he realizes where he is. 

"Hello, Peter Pettigrew," I say. "You might as well transform now. We know exactly who you are, and you've got quite a number of wands pointed at you right now." 

The rat squeaks, and then after a few moments, his body shifts and expands, taking on the form of a rather rat-like man instead. "I haven't done anything!" Peter proclaims. "I'm innocent, I swear! It was all him!" He points at Sirius. 

Sirius snorts. "You're not going to convince them, Peter." 

"I have a question," Hermione says. "If he's as bad as you say, why hasn't Peter tried to hurt Harry or anyone else?" 

"See?" Peter says, looking to her with frantic hope. "I'd never hurt dear Harry!" 

"Neither has Sirius," I point out. "And he's had plenty of opportunity, too." 

"Peter would never be so bold as to commit murder right under Dumbledore's nose unless he thought he could gain some advantage by it," Sirius says. 

"Wow, how did this guy ever end up in Gryffindor?" Draco asks. 

"I've wondered that myself at times," Sirius says. 

"Sirius Black was You-Know-Who's greatest supporter!" Peter proclaims. "He gained dark power from his master to escape!" 

Sirius gives a bark of laughter, and a few of the Slytherins can't help but snicker as well. "Don't be ridiculous," Draco says. "You're talking to Slytherins, you fool. We _know_ who the Dark Lord's greatest supporters were. _Our parents_. And if the Dark Lord could have given them powers to escape, why didn't he break out the Lestranges, or Dolohov, or Rookwood, or any of the others?" 

"Your guilt is not in question here, Peter," I say. "I let you speak rather than merely killing you in your sleep so that you could, perhaps, explain _why_ you betrayed the Potters." 

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Peter whimpers. "He forced me to tell him..." 

"Don't lie, Peter," Sirius barks. "You were his spy. You were passing him information for over a year before then." 

"What was there to be gained by refusing him?" Peter asks. 

"Hope for a better future, perhaps," Moony says. 

"He would have killed me!" Peter exclaims. 

"Then you should have died!" Sirius says. "We would have died for you, too, you know!" 

"You should have realized that if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would," Moony says quietly. "I'm disgusted with you, Peter." 

"Forgive me for not trusting you before, Remus," Sirius says. "I once thought you were the spy, when it was really _this_ piece of filth." 

"Already forgiven, Padfoot," Moony says gently. "And you will, of course, forgive me for believing that you were a spy and a murderer?" 

"Already forgiven, Moony," Sirius replies. 

"Shall we kill him together, then?" Moony says. 

"You wouldn't..." Peter whimpers. 

"I think we should let the Stormseeker do the honors," Sirius says with a feral grin. "It was his parents who were killed, after all." 

I shake my head. "No. Sirius was the one who suffered the most because of it. But, what say we do it together, all three of us?" 

"Best idea I've heard in years," Sirius says. 

Peter, in a panic, shifts into a rat and tries to escape, and promptly gets bombarded with Stunners, at least one of which lands, as he goes limp again. I hear a munching sound, and glance over at the others. Theodore and Draco, rather than watching to make sure Peter doesn't escape, are eating popcorn. 

"Where did you guys get the popcorn?" I ask. 

"I thought it would be a good idea to keep on hand, after the thing with Lockhart," Theodore says, showing me what appears to be a magic popcorn maker. 

"Some of us were watching to make sure that scum didn't escape," Neville says. 

"Wait, what happened with Lockhart?" Moony asks. 

"Oh, I killed him," I say offhandedly. 

"You already killed another human being, at the age of thirteen?" Moony says. 

"I already killed another human being at the age of eleven," I reply. "Death Eater at a New Year's party. Left me with a nasty scar on my leg for my trouble. So, shall we commit another murder, then?" 

Moony just gives me a look like we're going to have a nice, long talk later, and says, "Alright. Let's do this." 

The three of us bombard Peter with curses until he's no more. All that remains is the charred, smoldering corpse of a rat. 

Moony looks toward the group of students, several more of which are also eating popcorn by this point, with the notable exceptions of Hermione and Dean. "You have some very strange friends, Stormseeker," Moony says. "I wouldn't generally want so many witnesses to this, especially ones so young." 

"He had it coming," Neville says. 

"I stopped feeling sympathetic when he started whimpering and trying to make excuses for serving the Dark Lord and betraying the Potters," Hermione says, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing. 

" _Incendio_ ," Theodore says absently, setting the rat corpse on fire. 

"The grackles are already starting to gather," Luna says absently. 

"Do you really trust all of them, Stormseeker?" Moony asks. 

"I trust them all with my life and my greatest secrets," I say. "Speaking of which, I'd say it's about time we induct Padfoot into the circle, too." As distinguished from the _inner_ circle, which only those actually in the inner circle know exists. 

"What do you mean?" Sirius asks. 

"I am a time traveler," I say with a flourish and a grin. "But, uh, since this is the furthest ahead in the future I've been yet, that's not going to be overly helpful." I give him a quick rundown of my time travel powers. 

"Merlin, this is a lot to take in," Sirius says, sitting down heavily in a chair. 

"So, Sirius, what are you going to do now?" Draco asks. "I don't suppose you're planning to come back to the Slytherin dorms and keep on being our dog, huh?" 

Sirius snickers softly. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know where else I'm going to go right now." 

"Peter could have testified for your innocence," Hermione says. "You could have been free." 

"Maybe that, too," Sirius says. "But they didn't even give me a trial in the first place." 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. 

"What are you thinking, Stormseeker?" Neville asks. 

"I'm considering taking over the world after all," I say. 

"Why do I have such a sudden feeling of dread?" Dean says.


	58. Hunting Shadows

I'm speaking with Moony and Sirius in the Defense office the next day. Despite their long separation and estrangement, they've fallen back into being old friends again quite quickly. I think, all things considered, both of them really need friends more than anything else. 

"So, what's the plan?" I wonder. "Are you just going to keep living as a fugitive?" 

"They can't keep the Dementors around Hogwarts forever," Moony says. "Dumbledore would never stand for it." 

"Well, it's not like I can go and try to get a fair trial now, can I?" Sirius says, barking a laugh. "It would be less than convincing to testify under Veratiserum that yes, I did indeed kill Peter, just not when they thought I did." 

"We're going to need to come up with some sort of safe haven where you can stay," I say. "Someplace that isn't Hogwarts, that is." 

"Stormseeker, where did you get these friends of yours, anyway?" Sirius says. "Your Slytherins have all but taken it in stride that the dog that's been living in their dorm is an escaped murderer. And they're... less of assholes than I had expected." 

"Purely by accident, I assure you," I reply, chuckling and thinking back to my inadvertent confession of murder back when I started this life. "Unfortunately, the only adults that know my secrets are the two of you, and Dumbledore. And I don't know how much Dumbledore can or will do here." 

"I don't know about convincing the Ministry, but Dumbledore is a good man," Moony says. "He'll believe that Sirius is innocent." 

"I'm not innocent, just belatedly guilty," Sirius corrects him. 

I chuckle softly. "Dumbledore's not as good as some think he is, but I think he'd help us. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for all he's done for me." 

"Perhaps it would be best, then, to go and see him as soon as possible," Moony says. 

Sirius slips the cloak on again, and the three of us head over to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore looks up from his work as we come inside. 

"Good evening, Harry, Remus," Dumbledore says. "Sherbet lemon?" 

"No thanks," I say. "There are important matters which we must speak to you of." 

We bring Dumbledore up to speed on the matter of the Potters' Secret-Keeper and who really betrayed them. About the Weasleys' rat, and how Peter is now dead. 

"Peter's death will complicate things," Dumbledore says. "But I can hardly allow the Boy-Who-Lived to go to Azkaban." He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye. 

"I don't want to go back there either," Sirius says, pulling off the cloak. 

"Hello, Sirius," Dumbledore says. "In light of recent revelations, it's good to see you alive and well." 

"It's good to _be_ alive and well," Sirius says. "And the boys have been good about keeping me safe and well-fed, even if they didn't realize it was me for most of that." 

"So I thought you were just a starving stray at first," I say. "Well, you were, I suppose, just a starving stray _wizard_." 

"Of course, you realize that you actually killing Peter will make it difficult to clear your name?" Dumbledore says. 

"I don't care," Sirius says. "The little rat had it coming." 

"Understandable," Dumbledore says gravely. "But the matter remains as to what to do with you. Do you have any properties that you could take refuge in?" 

"Well, I suppose there's always Grimmauld Place," Sirius says, making a face. "I'd really rather not go back there, though, but I suppose it's technically mine now." 

"I could have the place cleaned up a bit and put under a Fidelius Charm," Dumbledore suggests. 

"I'd definitely rather not be cooped up in that house by myself, either," Sirius says. "That wouldn't be much better than just going back to Azkaban." 

"Perhaps you could remain here at Hogwarts for the time being, and then spend the holidays there with Harry?" Dumbledore says. 

"That sounds like a good idea," I put in. "I don't really have a base of operations that isn't Hogwarts, and I could really use one." 

"I have to wonder just what you're doing that would require a base of operations..." Moony says. "You're a very strange boy, time traveler or no." 

"Ah, so you've told them, have you?" Dumbledore says. 

"I told them I'm an immortal time traveler," I say, looking at him with the implication that that's _all_ I told them. 

"Let him have his base of operations, if wants one, I say," Sirius says. "I suppose it wouldn't be such a horrible place if it were renovated a bit." 

"I'll see what I can do," Dumbledore says. "Stay safe for now." 

* * *

On Thursday evening, Moony calls me into his office. "I've found a boggart that we can practice your Patronus Charm again," he tells me. "I've got it stored in this cupboard here." 

"Great," I say. I don't think I sound as enthusiastic as I should be, though. 

"Are you sure you're up to this, Stormseeker?" Moony asks. 

"There's no way in the Abyss that I'm backing down," I reply. "And if the Dementors come for Padfoot, I want to be able to ward them off." 

It's strange to think how the revelation that my dog was really a man hasn't actually changed my feelings toward him much. I loved that dog, and now I love that man. As a dog. Yeah, so my head's still a little confused. But I'd be hypocritical if I got upset at him about pretending to be my dog. After all, I'm pretending to be his godson now, and won't tell him that secret for exactly the same reason he wouldn't tell me his. 

"Your loyalty is admirable," Moony says. "Alright, you already know _how_ to cast the spell, so let's move on to testing it. Are you ready?" 

I nod. "Let's do it." I focus hard upon my thoughts of Sirius. 

Moony opens up the cupboard, and backs away. A Dementor slowly moves out, looking at me with its hooded face. It starts to drift toward me, emanating bone-chilling cold. 

I must stay focused. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " I cast. Wisps of glowing, silvery vapor erupt from the end of my wand. 

But I can't hold it for long. Terror strikes deep into the core of my being. Would I risk my soul, even for Sirius? My half-formed Patronus vanishes, and darkness clouds my vision. My cousins are screaming in my mind again, echoing over and over. 

"Stormseeker!" Moony says. "Are you alright?" 

The Dementor boggart is gone again, and I find myself laying on the floor of the office. I'm still trembling, and can't manage to form any words. Moony hands me a Chocolate Frog, and I nibble on it a bit. 

"I think that needs more work," I mutter. I'm a little annoyed at myself for my performance. "But at least we know that my boggart is, indeed, a Dementor now. I didn't expect it to be so much like a real Dementor, though..." 

"Boggarts of wizards can't actually cast spells, but they do take on the characteristics of other creatures," Moony says. 

"I see," I say. "Alright, let me give it another shot." 

"Very well," Moony says. "Nod when you're ready with your happy thought." 

This time I focus upon the taste of pancakes. The hope for lifetimes. I give a nod, and Moony opens up the cupboard again, and again the boggart Dementor emerges and turns toward me. 

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " I shout. 

Cloudy mist emerges from my wand like a glowing shield, and for a few fleeting moments, it seems to be holding off the negative effects of the Dementor. But it's not enough. My focus slips, my concentration wavers, and dark thoughts penetrate my mind. I can start with a blank slate, sure, but everything crumbles, sooner or later. Everything I might hope for falls apart before my eyes. What's the point in trying? All I do is make things worse. And I hear my cousins screaming, and know I have no hope of saving them, ever, in any life, no matter how many times I try. 

"Stormseeker!" Moony is saying. "It's alright, it's gone again. You should eat some more chocolate. Come on, wake up..." 

"I'm here," I say, taking a bite of the chocolate he offers. 

"You're doing very well, all things considered," Moony says. 

"I still couldn't hold it," I grumble. "And that was the best thought I could come up with." 

"It may be that, given your unusual magical proclivity, you will need to come up with a storm-related memory in order for it to work," Moony muses. 

"I've been thinking about that, since you mentioned it before," I say. "But I can't come up with anything good that's happened during a storm of any sort..." I don't spend a lot of time outside as it is, never mind when it's raining. "Meh, I'll try something, though." Maybe something lightning-related, at least. 

"Maybe we should just call it a night here," Moony suggests. 

I shake my head. "No, I'll give it one more shot, at least." 

"Alright," Moony says. "Let me know when you're ready." 

Thinking about the night I murdered Lockhart, I give a nod. Moony opens up the cupboard for a third time, and the boggart Dementor emerges, drifting toward me. It meets my rage and hatred, the pleasure I took in destroying someone who threatened those I care about. I can't even manage to get the incantation out. I drop my wand and fall to my knees, screaming. Sorrow, regret, despair... 

"Chocolate, Stormseeker," Moony urges me as if from a long way away, even though he's right next to me. "Eat some chocolate." 

I obey reflexively and eat up every bit of chocolate that Moony offers me. I think I have something else to add to my list of 'never again' now. You can't fight Dementors with dark thoughts. 

"Are you alright?" Moony asks. 

"I'll be fine," I murmur. "More chocolate." 

"What happened, Stormseeker?" Moony asks, giving me a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate. "What went wrong that time?" 

"I don't want to talk about it," I mutter. "But at least I didn't hear my family screaming as they're dying that time. It was still worse." 

"You hear Voldemort murdering James and Lily when Dementors are near you?" Moony asks. 

Sure, let's go with that. I nod absently. That was just a boggart. Just a boggart. How does anyone who goes to Azkaban stay sane? How did Sirius ever manage to escape? If that was what probably happens to Death Eaters, I can't imagine that any of them could emerge with their minds intact after even a week with the Dementors. Even a day! 

"I think that's definitely enough for the night," Moony says. "Eat that chocolate all up." 

Nibbling on the chocolate along the way, I leave of the Defense office. I don't head up to Gryffindor Tower, however, but rather down to the Slytherin common room, and go inside and straight to the third year boys' room in a bit of a daze. I plop down on the couch that's still sitting in there and lean back in a slump. 

"Stormseeker?" Draco says. "Are you alright?" 

"Just got out of Patronus practice with Moony," I mutter. 

"That doesn't sound so bad," Draco says. 

"It was against a boggart Dementor," I add. 

"I take that back," Draco says. 

Padfoot puts his head in my lap and comforts me with doggy cuddles. "I'll be alright," I murmur. "Thanks, Padfoot." 

I just want to curl up and sleep right now. I pop another Dream Sweet into my mouth along with the rest of the chocolate I've been given. Blaise winks at me as I curl up on the couch and go to sleep. 

* * *

Dueling Club on Saturday sees a fierce increase in competition between the four groups. Although there had originally been five, Ron decided to join his little sister's group toward the end of last term, making the Fire Guardians an even more formidable foe. Ron's real skill lies in tactics and strategy, not so much in leadership and actual combat ability. 

Today, the Fire Guardians are fighting a group match against the Owl Order in the midst of the Great Hall. Storm Army sits watching from one end of the room, and the Fluffy Bunnies from the other end. 

"I wouldn't have expected Ginny to be that good with curses," Draco says, looking vaguely impressed. 

"Draco, is that a crush I see?" I say teasingly. "Planning to marry her now?" 

Draco snorts softly. "I'm totally not." 

The Owl Order is made up mostly of Ravenclaws with a few other assorted students mixed in. They have the advantage of being better with the actual spells, but their combat skill is lacking. The Fire Guardians, on the other hand, might not be as good with the spellcasting, but their strategy is tight and they're quite fierce in battle. 

"Looks like the Fire Guardians have this one in the bag," Neville comments. 

Suddenly, the gates to the Great Hall open with a bang, and several adult wizards I don't recognize stride inside. 

"What is going on here?" asks the well-dressed man in the middle, looking over the duel. 

"Wands away," Snape tells the students. "Dueling Club, Minister Fudge. I might ask what _you_ are you doing here as well." 

"That looked more like open warfare than dueling!" Fudge sputters. "What are you teaching your students here? I demand that you shut down this club at once!" 

"Minister, did you really come all this way to criticize our extracurricular activities?" Snape says. 

"No," Fudge says. "I've received a tip-off that Sirius Black is hiding inside of Hogwarts castle itself!" 

The other students in the room look quite alarmed and several of them gasp, but Storm Army exchanges nervous looks, and my blood goes cold in dread. This isn't good. Did we let something slip somewhere? I was sure we were good about using, even overusing, privacy spells. We've gotten used to using them whenever we discuss any sensitive matters. 

"Gather all the students into the Great Hall," Fudge demands. "I must have the Dementors search this castle from top to bottom in order to find him." 

"Cover for me," I whisper to my friends, and I turn to quickly slip out of the Great Hall. 

Once out of sight, I race down toward the Slytherin common room. There's several other Slytherins in the room who aren't in the intermediate dueling club, but they hardly notice me. 

"Padfoot!" I say, clambering into the boys' dorm. "They know you're here. We need to hide you." 

Sirius shifts into human form. "What's going on?" he asks. 

"Dementors are going to search the castle," I say. 

"Shit," Sirius mutters. "How did they find out?" 

"I don't know," I say. "We need to hide you." 

"The cloak won't fool Dementors," Sirius says. "I might be able to hide in animal form, but if somebody's tipped them off about my Animagus form, I'm screwed." 

"I can take you to the Chamber of Secrets," I say. "Nobody will be able to find you in there." 

"You found the Chamber of Secrets?" Sirius says. 

"Long story," I say. "Tell you later. Put the cloak on and come on. We've got to go." 

I head out into the Slytherin common room again, Sirius following invisibly behind me. Gemma intercepts me and says, "What are you doing here? I've got to get everyone to the Great Hall, now! Come on!" 

"I'm sorry, Gemma, but I can't do that," I reply quietly. 

"What are you talking about?" Gemma wonders. 

"Pretend you didn't see me," I say. "I was never here. I'm not even supposed to be here at all, right? I've got to go." 

Gemma stares at me for a few moments, and then nods. "Fine, get out of here, then. And good luck with whatever it is you're doing. You'll need it." 

Luck never favors me, but I just nod to her and head out of the Slytherin common room. The most direct route to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets would take us through the Great Hall, so we'll need to avoid that and detour around it. I race through the castle, comforted by the sound of canine footsteps padding behind me. 

As we approach the Forbidden Restroom, I notice the way ahead is blocked by Dementors, by _feeling_ them rather than seeing them. I shake my head to Padfoot and try to circle around. Just as I think we might find another way out, I can sense the Dementors approaching from the other end of the corridor. We're trapped between two groups of Dementors. 

My heart racing, I dart inside an empty classroom, followed quickly by Padfoot. " _Colloportus_ ," I say. Then I levitate all the furniture in the room to barricade the door. 

"That won't keep them out for long," Sirius says, taking off the cloak. 

"We're trapped," I say. "I can't... I can't cast the Patronus Charm." 

"I don't think I could manage it, either," Sirius says quietly. 

"I'm not going to let those fuckers give either of us the Kiss," I say. "Death first." 

"You'd be willing to die for me, Stormseeker?" Sirius says. 

"I'm immortal, remember?" I say. "The Dementor's Kiss is about the only thing I've heard of that might actually be able to kill me. I can... I can go back. I can still save you. But not here. Not now." 

Sirius nods grimly, and says, "Then, better death than the Kiss." 

I'm shaking a little at the feeling of the Dementors nearby. They're battering at the doorway. The tables and chairs are starting to come down. "Goodbye, Padfoot," I murmur. 

I focus upon all of my rage and hatred and pour them into my magic. There's no joy or happiness in this, not even sadistic pleasure. Just the fury of the storm. There will be the salvation of death in the midst of the raging storm. 

" _FULGORIS!_ " I scream. 

A powerful blast of lightning rips apart the classroom. But I'm only aware of it for a fleeting instant. The pain coursing through my body ends quickly, and darkness takes me. 

* * *

I wake in my bed in the Gryffindor boys' dorm, and roll over. I don't want to get up yet. Death and despair, sorrow and hopelessness. Lingering effects of being near so many Dementors, I know. I can't shake it easily, though. Damn it, I need to move. There's chocolate in my bag of holding. I can't bring myself to want to do anything other than curl up hopelessly in bed, however. 

Sirius. I have to save _Sirius_. What's the use, I can't save him, they're just going to-- no, stop it, stop it, I have to-- I have to save Sirius! 

I push through the clinging despair and grab my bag, rummaging through it until I find a bit of chocolate, and shove it into my mouth. That helps to dispel the cold that was so deep I didn't realize how far it had gone. 

Sirius. Shit. They're coming for Sirius. I have to save Sirius. I don't know how they found out, but they're going to show up and search for him at around half past one this afternoon. I sigh in relief as I realize that. I have plenty of time to get him to safety. 

I climb out of bed and get dressed, and head straight down to the Slytherin common room before breakfast. The boys in the third year room are still waking up and getting ready, in no great hurry. 

"Morning, Stormseeker," Theodore says. 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus_ ," I murmur. "We've got an issue." 

"What's going on?" Draco wonders. 

"It's too early in the morning for issues," Blaise groans. 

"Somebody's tipped off the Ministry that Sirius is inside of Hogwarts," I say. "They're coming for him during Dueling Club this afternoon. They're going to have the Dementors sweep the whole castle looking for him." 

Sirius shifts and takes on human form. "Wait, what?" he says. "How did they find out?" 

"Not sure," I say. "I can only assume that we must have been careless once, and someone found out." 

"Or we've been betrayed," Theodore adds. 

"Nonsense," I say. "None of you would betray me. And why over this?" 

"That's what we thought about Peter, too," Sirius reminds me. 

I sigh. "Fine. I'll concede the point that we may have a traitor in the circle. But I'm not going to start glaring at everyone suspiciously. It's not important right now. We can deal with it once Sirius is safe." 

"How did you even find out about this?" Sirius asks. 

"Because I just died to keep the Dementors from Kissing us," I say. "Blew up a whole damned classroom with an overpowered Lightning Curse. I tried to get you away, but I couldn't, and we wound up trapped..." 

"I understand," Sirius says quietly, looking at the floor. "This whole immortal time traveler thing is still a bit strange to me." 

"You get used to it," Draco says. "I've lost track of how many times he's shown up at breakfast bitching about dying." 

"Alright, Sirius, I need to get you out of the castle," I say. "I'll get you out to the Forbidden Forest so you can hide out there. I'll come back and get you once the coast is clear, alright?" 

Sirius nods, and goes to pull on the invisibility cloak. I lead him out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs, and then lead him across the castle to the Forbidden Restroom. I don't know what the teachers finally had to do to get the Chamber of Secrets message to finally go away, but at least it's not there anymore. I gesture to thin air and step inside. The room isn't even flooded or anything. Myrtle doesn't spend a lot of time here anymore. 

"I thought you were taking me to the Forbidden Forest," says Sirius' voice from the air. "What are we doing in the girls' loo?" 

"I lied," I say. "I wanted to see if the Dementors wound up going to the wrong place. 

"Ah, I see," Sirius says. "Smart move. That way you'd know if one of the Slytherins is a traitor. But I don't think the loo would hide me from the Dementors." 

"Heh," I say. "Watch this." I go up to the middle sink and hiss at it in the one Parseltongue word I know. It takes a couple tries, but I get the passage open. "The Chamber of Secrets." 

"Whoa, you actually found the Chamber of Secrets?" Sirius says, pulling off the cloak. "And you're a Parselmouth?" 

I shake my head. "That's the only word in Parseltongue I know," I say. "Come on down." I hop inside and slide down into the darkness. Sirius comes down just behind me. I lead him down the tunnel and into the main chamber. Some of the basilisk corpse is still present, but Snape has already dissected the better bits of it for potions ingredients. 

"You managed to discover a secret part of the castle that the Marauders didn't," Sirius says with a small grin. "We'll have to see about getting this added to the map sometime." 

I lead him over to the library. "For the moment, this is Salazar Slytherin's private library. Feel free to look around. Assuming you know Latin or Middle English or something." 

"I'll take a look," Sirius says. "At least there's no way the Dementors are going to find me down here. How did _you_ ever find this place?" 

"Long story," I say. "It took me two lifetimes, and I paid for it in blood. I'll tell you all about it later. I've got to get to breakfast before somebody wonders where I am." I pull out a box of chocolate and pass it over to him. "That's not much of breakfast, either, sorry, but it'll help if you can actually somehow feel the Dementors from all the way down here." 

"Thanks," Sirius says. 

I head back out, and wish I knew how to call for the damned stairs. Some spells and a _Scourgify_ later gets me eventually back to the restroom again. I wonder if I should start carrying around a broomstick in my bag of holding or something. That might not actually be such a terrible idea. 

I casually head over for breakfast as if nothing were going on. As I do, I'm running down in my head how or why someone might have tipped off the Ministry. Is one of my friends really a traitor? I can understand that nobody would have made the connection between the dog and the escaped convict, and now, not a week after that's been revealed, the Ministry is here looking for him. But I'd really rather think that we must have gotten careless, and an outsider found out and let the Ministry know. 

Before Dueling Club gets going for the afternoon, I go up to speak with Snape quietly. "Professor," I say quietly. "I suggest sticking to something that looks safe and normal. The Ministry will be showing up today." 

"What?" Snape says, looking at me with a scowl. "What makes you think that?" 

"You really need to ask that question?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "My usual source, of course." 

"Ah," Snape says. "Of course. I see." 

"If they see us doing what looks to be preparation for warfare, they'll shut down the whole club," I say. 

"Damn Fudge," Snape mutters. 

I go over to sit where Storm Army is gathering. Once everyone is present, Snape announces that the planned group event has been postponed until next weekend, and that we'll be sticking to sparring and individual duels for the moment. 

Right on time, the gates to the Great Hall burst open and Fudge walks in like he owns the place, flanked by the wizards who were with him before, whoever they are. Lackeys of his, I assume. 

"What's going on in here?" Fudge demands. 

"Dueling Club, Mr. Fudge," Snape replies. 

"I see," Fudge says. "No matter. I've received word that Sirius Black is hiding away somewhere inside this very castle. I'm bringing the Dementors in to search every inch of this place!" 

"I assure you, if Black were in the castle, I would drag him to you myself," Snape says. 

"Be that as it may, Hogwarts must be searched," Fudge insists. "Bring all the students here to the Great Hall so that they're out of the Dementors' way." 

Snape looks even more sour than usual at having to comply with this. Soon enough, the students are gathering up in the Great Hall. And it doesn't take too much longer for Dumbledore himself to arrive, looking less than pleased at the situation. 

"Why have you threatened the sanctity of my school with these monsters, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asks. "I will not tolerate my students being placed in this situation." 

"And I will not have Sirius Black hiding under your very nose!" Fudge retorts. "He's in here, and I will find him and have him Kissed!" 

Dumbledore sighs. "If this is truly necessary, I must ensure that the students are protected. _Expecto Patronum_." A beautiful bird made of moonlight flies out of Dumbledore's wand and takes watch before the gates. He turns to address the students and teachers, who have been arriving hastily. "Everyone capable of casting a Patronus, please do so, and set them to guard the children." 

The teachers begin casting their spells, bringing forth Snape's doe, Lupin's wolf, a cat from McGonagall, and others. The silvery, translucent animals take up positions around the Great Hall, keeping watch over the students and protecting them from harm. It's a wondrous and comforting sight to see. Even though the Dementors are streaming in through the gates, I cannot feel the effects of their powers behind the wall of protector animals. 

But Sirius will be safe. Now there's nothing for me to do but sit and wait out the storm.


	59. Betrayal

"The Dementors are gone, Sirius," I say, coming into Slytherin's library. "Find anything interesting?" 

"I'm surprised to find that it's not all dark stuff," Sirius says. "Although, my Latin isn't so great." 

"Yeah, me and my friends have been working on learning it, but it's been slow going," I say. 

"How did Fudge ever get away with sending Dementors into the school?" Sirius wonders. 

"Dumbledore gave him a good chewing out," I say. "Especially after they turned up nothing. Fudge wanted to keep them here until you were found, but Dumbledore wouldn't stand for it. They're back outside again now, at least. Damned Dementors very nearly Kissed a first year girl, but thankfully somebody noticed she was missing and McGonagall went and rescued her. You want to come back up?" 

"Yeah," Sirius says. "Although... I think I'll take a couple of these with me. So, out of curiosity, did the Dementors go out to the Forbidden Forest?" 

I shake my head. "Nope," I say. "So if we do have a traitor, it wasn't my Slytherins." 

"Huh," Sirius says. "Either that or they were trying to keep their cover. I don't suppose you have any ratty Gryffindors in that group, do you?" 

I shake my head. "I wouldn't have thought _any_ of them would turn traitor. Maybe I'm just overly optimistic. But if it's really one of them, I've got some pretty damning secrets that they all know about. Like the time travel thing. And murdering Lockhart." 

"I haven't come this far just to see _you_ get sent to Azkaban," Sirius says. 

"Failing all else, we can be fugitives from the law together," I say, smirking. "That wouldn't be so horrible, I suppose." 

"I'll protect you as best as I can, Stormseeker," Sirius says. 

"Likewise," I say with a small grin. 

"What about that Ravenclaw girl?" Sirius says. "What was her name, Lisa?" 

"Luna," I say, and shake my head. "No way. She's a little barmy, but she's the last person I'd expect to turn on me. Also, if she did, nobody would listen to her anyway. Besides, she thinks you're Stubby Boardman." 

"Who?" Sirius says. "Oh, wait, wasn't he a singer?" 

"Told you she's barmy," I say. 

"So I see," Sirius says. 

"Oh, also, as a note. If you're ever in a situation where you need a place to hide in here and I'm not around to open it, call for Myrtle. She can open the way to the Chamber of Secrets, too." 

"Hello!" says Myrtle, popping into view. 

"Huh?" Sirius says. "Wait, aren't you Moaning Myrtle?" 

"Nope!" Myrtle says brightly. "I'm Merry Myrtle, now!" 

Sirius looks to me and says, "Stormseeker, what did you do to this ghost?" 

"Why are you looking at me like it's my doing?" I ask. 

"It's weird, so you must be involved somehow," Sirius says. 

I snicker softly. I lead him back out to the pipe leading up to the restroom, and say, "I don't suppose you know any spells that would make getting out of here easier, do you? There's a way to call for the stairs, but I don't know the Parseltongue command for it, I'm afraid." 

"Let's see what I can do," Sirius says, pulling out his stolen wand. "You'll forgive me if I'm a little out of practice, though." 

Sirius casts a couple spells, and the two of us go zipping up the pipe and out into the restroom. I land inside a stall, and stumble to my feet. Thankfully I didn't hit my head on a toilet. 

"Sorry about that," Sirius says. 

"Definitely need to give you a chance to practice," I say, smirking. "I'm sure the Slytherins won't mind making sure nobody stumbles in if you want to do that." 

"Maybe," Sirius says, pulling on the cloak and vanishing, and I lead him back to the Slytherin dorms. 

* * *

"We'll be practicing the Shield Charm again this week," Professor Lupin says. "I hope you've been practicing." 

We didn't actually get around to actually trying it out last week. Lupin spent a lot of time describing what it could be used for, and demonstrating its use by having students try to throw curses at him. 

Neville is the first to successfully cast the spell. Maybe Hermione would have done it if she weren't so busy trying to correct everyone's pronunciation, but the fact remains that Neville is the first in the class to get up a shimmering Shield Charm. 

" _Neville_ cast it first?" Ron says, looking shameful. 

"Shut your mouth, Ron," I say. "Neville is awesome." 

By the end of the class, only Neville and Hermione can cast the spell so far. I have a feeling that I might wind up being the last one to be able to cast it, but I don't mind. Seeing Neville beam in pride at his success is well worth it. 

There's no way Neville would have ever betrayed me. What if it were Hermione? She was always a little less eager to get involved in the more questionable activities. I really don't like this train of thought. 

* * *

The next week, my box of Dream Sweets runs empty. I wonder how bad it could be, and just decide to go to sleep without one, just to see. What does it say about my morbid curiosity that I'm willing to do potentially unpleasant things just to see what happens? 

As it turns out, I find myself trapped in horrible nightmares for the entire night. I'm screaming, running from monsters, being tortured to death, watching my friends and family die before my eyes. I can't even wake up, and in the morning, I'm covered in sweat and exhausted as if I didn't sleep at all. 

I head down before breakfast, and spot Blaise on the way to the Slytherin table. I grab his arm and drag him into the nearest classroom. 

"You look like hell," Blaise comments, and puts up a privacy spell, which is just as well as my mind isn't really in a state to even think about casting spells at the moment. 

"Blaise," I say. "I'm addicted to your candy." 

"Ah, you ran out, did you?" Blaise says, giving me a small grin. 

"Yeah," I mutter. "I don't suppose you have anymore?" 

"Certainly," Blaise says, pulling out another purple box and offering it to me. 

"What do you want for it?" I ask. 

"What kind of a friend would I be if I asked for payment?" Blaise says. 

"I could die today, you know," I say. "I could suddenly die, and leave you with no return on your investment." 

"Investment?" Blaise says, grinning more broadly. "You're a Gryffindor, you're not supposed to be thinking like a Slytherin." 

I snicker softly. "How Slytherin am I really if I knew you sent me addictive candy and used it anyway?" 

"Desperate, maybe?" Blaise says, shrugging. "Besides, we've been studying the books you brought from the Chamber of Secrets, remember? Rediscovering lost magical knowledge! If anything, we're the ones who owe you a lot." 

I snort softly. "And you also know perfectly well that I'd do just about anything for any of you, anyway..." 

"Because you're strange like that," Blaise says, grinning a little. "But tell me, then, if you knew it was addictive, why _did_ you use it anyway?" 

"Totally worth it," I reply. "Even if you demanded blood for more." 

"Right, desperate," Blaise says, nodding. "Well, go ahead and take another box, then." 

I'm too tired to argue at the moment. I accept the box, and say, "Can you ask Storm Army to cover for me? Tell the teachers I'm sick in bed or something. Just as well to be 'sick' when it's not the full moon, I suppose." 

"Will do," Blaise says, and we part ways. 

I head up for Gryffindor Tower again. All things considered, Blaise and the others have so much blackmail material on me anyway, they wouldn't exactly _need_ to get me addicted to illegal magical substances. 

* * *

"The Ministry hasn't given up yet," Dumbledore says. "They still believe that Sirius Black is inside of Hogwarts. I'm not letting them bring Dementors into the halls of this school again, however." 

"Why are they so convinced I'm here, I wonder?" Sirius says. 

"Do we have any idea who might have told them?" 

"It wasn't any of the third year Slytherin boys, that much I'm certain of," I say. 

"I know you are fond of them," Moony says. "But can you really trust them that much?" 

"Absolutely," I say. "Besides, when the Dementors were searching the castle, I gave them false information about where I was hiding Sirius, and no Dementors would up even looking there." 

"Fair enough," Moony says. 

"Mr. Fudge demanded that I at least have the teachers conduct a thorough search myself, if I will not allow Dementors in," Dumbledore says. "I've been assuring him that we have found no trace of you, however." 

"Maybe you'll have to fake your own death, in order to get them to back down," I say. "Like Peter did." 

Sirius scowls, and nods. "Maybe. Not sure off the top of my head how I might pull it off and not end up _actually_ dead, though." 

"We'll think of something," I assure him. 

* * *

The following week, the _Daily Prophet_ releases a story speculating on the disappearance of Gilderoy Lockhart. It seems that they finally suspect that he didn't just go off on a world tour and retire. Owls aren't reaching him, and any attempt to contact him is met with failure. There's considerable doubt about it, and even the reporter, Rita Skeeter, can't be certain if he's fallen upon a bad end, or if he just has anti-owl wards up to avoid people bothering him. 

The next full moon begins on January 26th. Moony and I spend the night with Padfoot, making the transformation considerably more bearable. It's good to have friends. 

We're lounging about sleeping it off the next morning when there's a knock on the door to Moony's chambers. The knocking grows louder and more insistant until it finally manages to penetrate the haze in my mind induced by the Dream Sweets. 

Bang, bang, bang! There's a muffled voice coming from outside. "Come on, open up already, it's me, Draco! I know you're in there! Come on! Please! It's really, really urgent!" 

I stumble over to the door and open it up. "Draco?" I slur. 

"About fucking time," Draco says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, then muttering some quick spells over it. 

Sirius stirs sleeping and says, "What is it? Can't it wait?" 

"Not unless you want even more trouble than we've already got," Draco says. "It seems the Ministry now thinks there's a werewolf at the castle." 

Moony groans softly, rubbing his eyes. "Like things weren't bad enough as it is," Moony mutters. 

"What can they do?" I ask. 

"Cause problems," Moony replies. 

"Nobody at the Ministry actually knew that Remus was a werewolf while we were at Hogwarts," Sirius says. "If they had, they would have forced him to register, and would have severely restricted what he could do and where he could go." 

"To hear the Ministry talk, they think there's a dangerous, feral werewolf roaming the school grounds trying to prey on the students," Draco says. "They aren't just talking registration here. They're calling in the Werewolf Capture Unit." 

"This is bullshit," Sirius spits. 

"I'd chide you for using such language in front of children," Moony says. "But these two are even bigger pottymouths than you." 

"Who do they think it is?" I ask. 

"They didn't seem to be sure if it was a student or a teacher," Draco says. "But they're going to come in tonight and make sure that _everyone_ is clean and untransformed." 

"This is doubly bullshit," Sirius says. "They can't do that." 

"Dumbledore was trying to fight it, last I saw," Draco says. 

"This is getting ridiculous," I say, sighing. 

"We'd best hope that Dumbledore can keep them out," Moony says. "There's no way they should be allowed to do this. Coming into everyone's rooms to make sure they aren't werewolves? It oversteps every sort of boundary they should have..." 

"Yeah, but it's _for the children_ , so it's alright," Draco says, snorting. 

"So," I say. "I think I want to destroy the Ministry. Any objections?" 

The others are quiet for a few moments. Moony says, "They aren't normally quite this bad." 

"But they're _always_ useless and obtrusive," Draco points out. 

"It's just a long-term consideration," I say. "Assuming I survive my years of schooling. It's always good to have goals, right?" 

Sirius barks a laugh. "Sometimes it's hard to keep track of which is more evil, Voldemort or the Ministry." 

There's another knock on the door. Sirius, actually awake this time, quickly slips under the invisibility cloak until we determine that it's only Dumbledore. He pulls off the cloak again once the protections are back up. 

"Headmaster, what's going on?" I ask. "Don't tell me the Ministry's actually going to do this, are they?" 

"Certainly not," Dumbledore says. "Particularly not after the last debacle. Children could have been _killed_." 

"That's a relief," Moony says. 

"Still, we had best not let down our guard," Dumbledore says. 

"I could resign," Moony says. "Come out and admit it... it would make things easier on Harry, draw suspicion away from him." 

"No way," I say. "You're the least evil Defense professor I've ever had. Not counting the term Myrtle subbed for it, anyway." 

"Wait," Sirius says. "You had the crying ghost girl teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" 

"I don't cry anymore!" Myrtle protests, appearing out of thin air. 

"Do you just follow Harry around waiting for him to say your name?" Sirius wonders. 

"No," Myrtle says. "But I have ears! In a manner of speaking." She smirks. "Actually, no, I've just been haunting the Stormseeker. In a benevolent sort of way. But he did ask me to pay attention and help you too!" 

"I don't believe there's any need to expose anyone's condition," Dumbledore says. "I can keep the Ministry at bay for the moment. I am more concerned as to how these rumors came about in the first place." 

"There's a spy," Sirius says flatly. "A traitor. There has to be." 

"If this is true, why did they not simply name names?" Moony says. 

"Maybe it would have been too obvious," Sirius says, shrugging. "I don't know." 

"I'll keep an eye out," I say, sighing raggedly. 

" _I'll_ keep an eye out, for the moment," Draco says. "You just worry about getting over the full moon right now. Although you might want to go someplace else to transform. Just in case." 

"Good idea," Moony says. "Perhaps we should use the Shrieking Shack again, instead." 

"Heh, like old times," Sirius says. 

"Draco, do me a favor?" I say. "Tell Dean, Neville, Hermione, and Luna that we're spending the full moon in different places each. See which of them, if any, the Ministry tries to investigate." 

"Will do," Draco says. 

That evening, before sunset, Sirius, Moony and I sneak out of the castle. They lead me toward the Whomping Willow, and I pause in alarm as we approach the vicious tree. 

"But that's the Whomping Willow," I say. "Are we really going _there_?" 

"There's a secret passage there that leads straight into the Shrieking Shack," Moony explains. "Don't worry, you just need to slip in and touch a knob on the tree, and it'll go quiet." 

I quietly take him at his word, and sure enough, when he touches the right spot, the Whomping Willow becomes docile. The three of us head down into the underground passage. At the other end, we emerge in a building with no doors to the outside, that doesn't look like anyone has been inside in years. 

"I used to come in here every month when I was attending school," Moony says. "Alone, at least until fifth year." 

"Your father was brilliant with Transfiguration," Sirius says. "We could've never managed it without him." 

"I wish I could have known him," I say quietly. I wish I could have _saved_ him. I'm a time traveler. What's the good in being a time traveler if I can only go so far back? 

"Blame Peter on that one," Sirius spits. "I wish I could have been there for you, growing up." 

"I did alright, at least," I say. "The American wizards who raised me were good to me. Dumbledore had initially wanted to put me with Lily's Muggle sister..." 

"Petunia?" Sirius says. "Ugh, I'm glad he changed his mind. That would have been a horrible idea. Lily was always complaining about how much her sister hated magic." 

Yes. It was, indeed, a horrible idea. 

I really just want to sleep at the moment, as my rest was interrupted earlier. But that'll have to wait. I can let a Dream Sweet melt away my stress in the morning. 

* * *

"Stormseeker," Draco says after putting up a privacy spell. "I got him." 

"Huh?" I say. The full moon is over, and I'm back in the castle in the evening after sleeping it off a bit. 

"I figured out who betrayed us," Draco says. "It was Dean Thomas." 

"What!?" I say. "But... him? Why?" 

Draco shrugs. "Damned if I know. Why don't we find out?" 

I go up and tell Neville, "Could you tell Dean to meet us in the sleeping dragon tapestry room after dinner? Just Dean, but let him think that it's just a standard meeting. Don't let him know that he's the only one that's going to be there." 

"Something wrong?" Neville asks. 

"Draco suspects that he's betrayed us," I say, sighing. "We're going to get some answers." 

Neville's face pales. "Can I come?" 

"Of course," I say. "But don't tell Hermione. I don't think she could stomach what we may have to do." 

That evening, Neville, Draco, and I arrive ahead of Dean, waiting. "How do you know it was Dean?" Neville asks. 

"Remember how I told you that the Stormseeker and Professor Lupin were going out to the Forbidden Forest to transform?" Draco says. 

"Yeah... weren't they?" Neville says. 

Draco shakes his head. "I told Luna they'd be going to a cave just outside Hogsmeade. I told Hermione they would be out by the lake. And I told Dean they'd be back in the greenhouses. They weren't actually going to any of these places, but guess where the Ministry was looking for them?" 

"They looked in the greenhouses?" Neville says in alarm. 

"Good job, Draco," I say. 

Dean shows up, and glances around, and says, "Guess I'm early." 

" _Muffliato. Colloportus. Locus Timoris_ ," I cast, abandoning my old password for the Revulsion Curse and switching to 'Nexus'. 

"No, Dean, you're just in time," Draco says. 

"Wha-- what do you mean?" Dean stammers, reaching for his wand. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Neville casts, and snatches Dean's wand right out of the air. 

"I want some answers, Dean," I say. "And I'll get some Veratiserum if need be, too." 

"What's going on?" Dean says in a panic. 

"What did you tell them, Dean?" Draco asks. 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Dean cries, taking a step back and cowering in fear. 

"I want to hear an explanation," I say. "Why is the Ministry after me? First they come in looking for Sirius Black, saying they were tipped off, and then they get news of a rumor about a werewolf in Hogwarts... Did you mention something about Lockhart, too?" 

"Neville, help me, please," Dean begs. "They're crazy..." 

"I want to hear an answer, too," Neville says. 

"Neville, you _know_ what the Stormseeker is doing is wrong..." Dean says. "He's crazy, he's evil, he's plotting to take over the world as the next Dark Lord!" 

I let out a heavy sigh. "So you _did_ betray us after all." 

"You had to be stopped!" Dean exclaims. 

"And yet you didn't give any direct pointers," I say. "It was just vague rumors." 

"It would have been harder to point back to me that way," Dean says. "But I suppose I went too far with telling them where you'd be. I was sure they'd catch you that time and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. They'd catch you and Lupin and Black and put you away where you can't hurt anyone anymore. How did you get away from them, Stormseeker? How many of them did you kill this time?" 

"Nobody," Draco puts in. "Because they weren't there in the first place. It was a lie I told you to see if you'd feed it back to the Ministry. And you took the bait." 

"Shit," Dean mutters. "Neville! You have to help me! They're going to kill me! They'll murder me just like they did Lockhart and Pettigrew!" 

"I trusted you, too, Dean," Neville says. "And the Stormseeker is a good person. Do you really think that Lockhart and Pettigrew didn't deserve what they got? You know what they did!" 

"But did you see his expression?" Dean says. "He _enjoyed_ killing! He's got you fooled just as much as the rest of them!" 

"If you didn't want to be a part of this anymore, why didn't you just go to Dumbledore and ask to be Obliviated?" I say. 

Dean shakes his head. "Not good enough. I had to stop you. You said yourself that you're planning to take over the world!" 

"You traitor," Draco says. "You filthy Muggleborn!" 

"I'm sorry, Dean," I say. "I respect that you were trying to do the right thing. You thought you were doing what was best. That was awfully brave of you." 

"But very, very foolish," Draco says. 

"Brave?" Dean says. "I'm scared to death of you!" 

"I can't let this continue, though," I say. "We'll--" 

" _Tentacula Tenebrae!_ " Draco says. 

Shadowy black tendrils burst out of the floor and entangle themselves upon Dean, who screams loudly. Grasping at him, holding him tightly, piercing his arms and legs. 

"Draco, no!" I cry. 

"Sorry, did you want to kill him?" Draco asks. "Feel free to join in. Go on and cast your Lightning Curses." 

"Stop this!" I demand. 

"What?" Draco says. "Why? This bloody traitor deserves to die! He could have gotten you and Sirius and Professor Lupin killed! His actions _still_ might result in that!" 

"Neville... help me!" Dean whimpers weakly. All strength is draining out of him, and he can't even stand on his own anymore. 

"Sorry, Dean," Neville says. "I truly am. But you went too far." 

"He thought he was doing the right thing!" I exclaim. "I was going to take him to Dumbledore to Obliviate him! He doesn't have to die!" 

"Maybe... I was wrong... about you..." Dean murmurs. 

The tentacles vanish, leaving dean to collapse to the floor unsupported. 

"Dean!" I say, rushing up next to him. "DEAN!" I turn him over to face up, but his eyes are staring blankly, glazed over, dead. My own eyes are stinging with unbidden tears. He was my friend, damn it. I didn't want to see him go, not like this... not in the same way Sedder killed me, years ago in another lifetime. 

"Snap out of it, Stormseeker," Draco says. "Do you think it was any easier for Sirius and Lupin? Peter Pettigrew was _their_ friend, too. Maybe it was easier for _you_ in that case just because you didn't really know him." 

"Are you going to kill yourself, Stormseeker?" Neville asks quietly, looking at me worriedly. 

I shake my head. "No way," I say. "You... you're right, I suppose. I just... I just wish it hadn't come to this. I don't think he really deserved to die. But there's no way in the Abyss I'm going to abandon you guys just to go back to save him." 

"So don't you dare spend the rest of the term angsting over this," Draco says. "Maybe now that we've plugged that leak, we can try to mitigate the damage he's done. Hopefully it isn't already too late." 

He goes over to Dean's body and pokes around, rifling around through his belongings and pocketing anything valuable. I can't watch, though. I step away and stare against a wall. I'm still shaking and tears are still running down my cheeks. I'm sad that my friend betrayed me, but now there's no chance for forgiveness, no hope for redemption. 

Neville comes up behind me and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I glance up at him and notice that his eyes are moist as well. "He was my friend, too," Neville whispers. "It never gets any easier, does it." 

"We should be worried if it did," I say softly. "Then we'd know we've become monsters." 

"Is Draco a monster?" Neville asks. 

"He's a Slytherin," I say with a bitter chuckle. "But if he's a monster, at least he's _my_ monster." 

"Your monster is going to dispose of the body now," Draco says from behind us. "You can go take a walk and get some fresh air or something if you don't want to stick around. I'll take care of it." 

"Thanks, Draco," I say quietly, and head out. Despite that, I'm still a bit angry and hurt with Draco. 

* * *

Neville and I head down to the Slytherin dormitories. We might wind up staying here tonight, but right now, I really don't want to go back to the Gryffindor dorm and look guiltily at Dean's empty bed. 

I put my privacy spells up -- and go back to using 'Wishingsdale' as my password again, since it doesn't matter anymore, and if we have more than one traitor, I will be more than a little cross. Once the room is secure, Sirius shifts into human form. 

"Why the long face, Stormseeker?" Sirius asks. 

"We found the traitor," I whisper, and go up and bury my face in his shoulder, crying. 

Sirius puts his arms around me and comforts my trembling, sobbing body. Maybe it was easier for him because he spent over a decade stewing in Azkaban and hating his former friend. Me, I never expected one of my friends to turn on me. My enemies, sure, but never my friends. Perhaps I trusted them too far, and too much. Perhaps I asked too much of Dean without making absolutely sure that he really was loyal to me. I don't know, but now a boy is dead, and I can't help but shake the guilt that I could have avoided this. 

Draco comes into the room a little while later. "Alright, all taken care of," he says darkly. 

"What happened?" Theodore asks. 

"Dean Thomas was slipping rumors to the Ministry," Draco half snarls. "Well, that stops now. I killed him." 

Both Blaise and Theodore put their faces in their hands. "Draco, are you an _idiot_?" Blaise wonders. 

"What are you talking about?" Draco says. 

"That was, perhaps, not the best way that could have been handled," Theodore adds. 

I pull away from Sirius and sit down on the couch, rubbing my eyes. "I wasn't even going to kill him, myself," I say. "I was going to take him to Dumbledore to handle it." 

"Not what I'd have done, but still a better idea than just outright killing him like that," Blaise says. 

"Well, then, if you're so smart, what _would_ you have done?" Draco asks. 

"I'd find a way to eliminate the problem in a better way," Blaise says. "Maybe kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Implicate the traitor as the culprit. Like, say, have the Stormseeker infect the traitor, and then set him loose where the Ministry will find him. Bam! Problem solved." 

Sirius stares at him. "Yeah, that's the sort of plot I'd expect from a Slytherin." 

"Hey!" Draco protests. "I'm a Slytherin too!" 

"You're a thug who's failed at cunning plots," Blaise says with a smirk. "Or did you just let your anger cloud your thinking?" 

Draco growls a little and glares at Blaise. "The dirty little Muggleborn deserved what he got." 

"Hold on a minute," Sirius says. "I know this discussion is important and all... but did I just hear a Malfoy insult someone by calling them a Muggleborn? What, not a Mudblood?" 

"Mudblood implies that their blood is mixed," Draco says. "Muggleborn implies that their parents are Muggles. That's _worse_." 

I have to smirk a little. "He got that from me," I murmur to Sirius in explanation. 

"You're very strange kids," Sirius says, chuckling. "And I think I'm glad Blaise is on _my_ side here..." 

Blaise grins crookedly. "My mother taught me all about how to get away with murder," he says lightly. 

"As her long string of husbands who met with unfortunate ends could attest to," Theodore says dryly. 

"But, what's done is done," Blaise says. "You're still an idiot, Draco, but we're now going to have to find a way to spin this in our favor, or at least make it not blow up in our faces." 

"What can we do?" Neville asks. 

"We'll think of something," Blaise assures him. "For the moment, just get some sleep, alright?" 

"I can't argue with that," I say. 

I eagerly replace the dismal thoughts in my head with some wonderful, relaxing dreams. 

* * *

In the morning before breakfast, Blaise says, "This will be much easier if Dumbledore is willing to help." 

"I don't think he has much choice at this point," Sirius says. "He's not going to allow Harry to go to Azkaban." 

"There are always choices," I say. "But I think the costs of him supporting me are outweighed by what would be lost if he did not." 

"Now you're thinking like a Slytherin," Theodore says. 

"Alright," Blaise says. "I have a plan, then. Let's go see Dumbledore about backing it up." 

We head out of the Slytherin dormitory and make our way upstairs. Neville, Crabbe, Goyle, and Theodore turn to head for the Great Hall. Draco tries to slip away with them, but Blaise reaches over and grabs him by the collar. 

"Don't think you're going to slip away that easily," Blaise says. "You're coming with us." 

Draco grumbles a little and says, "Fine." 

Blaise, Draco, and I go to the Headmaster's office. I tell the gargoyle outside, "S'mores," and it lets us inside. 

"Good morning, boys," Dumbledore says. "What can I do for you today? Sherbet lemon?" 

"Hello, Headmaster," I say. "We have... a situation." 

"Why do I have to be here again?" Draco says, shifting uneasily. 

I sigh. "To make a long story short," I say. "Dean Thomas was passing rumors to the Ministry. We brought him in to question him and get to the bottom of things, and Draco lost his temper and killed him." 

Dumbledore frowns deeply. "I... see. I'm glad you came to me. This is a grave situation indeed." 

"Tell them that Dean has withdrawn from the school for his own safety," Blaise says. "Changed his name and left the country." 

"That would probably be for the best," Dumbledore says. "We must avoid even more undue suspicion being cast upon Harry." He looks grimly at Draco. "However, even though I cannot officially punish you for this, I also cannot condone the killing of students under my watch." 

"He was a traitor!" Draco exclaims. "He had it coming!" 

I shake my head. "He thought he was doing the right thing. He wasn't a bad person! He just made a terrible mistake... I didn't want him killed for this." 

"Draco, you must not think that you should kill people with impunity," Dumbledore says, rising to his feet. "Come with me, Draco. Don't worry. You will not be harmed. There's merely something I wish you to do before I go and sweep this situation under the rug." He looks to me and Blaise. "Run along to breakfast, boys. I'll take care of it from here." 

I head out with Blaise, who murmurs as we go, "I wonder what's going to happen with Draco. I hope you're right about what you said about Dumbledore." 

"I'm sure he won't do anything too bad," I say quietly. 

We go to eat breakfast. My heart isn't really in the food at the moment, but I'm hardly going to starve myself. Or start vomiting again anytime something bad happens near me. 

"Where's Draco?" Hermione asks. 

"He's with Dumbledore," Blaise says. 

"Did he get in trouble or something?" Hermione wonders. 

"You could say that," I say evasively. 

Draco doesn't show up again until lunch, looking very dejectedly. He just comes in and sits down like nothing happened, and piles up food onto his plate without saying a word to the rest of us or even really bothering to look at us. 

"What happened, Draco?" Blaise asks. 

"I'll tell you later," Draco mutters. His eyes flick toward Hermione, and I suddenly realize that he doesn't seem to want Hermione to know what happened. Is he afraid that she'll be upset at him if she finds out? Strange. 

As lunch is winding down, he drags Blaise, Theodore, and I off into an empty classroom, and throws up privacy spells. I don't think I've ever seen Draco looking quite this miserable before. 

"This is all your fault, you know," Draco mutters. 

"What happened?" Blaise asks. 

"Dumbledore decided to teach me a bit of a lesson," Draco grumbles. "He took me to Dean's mother and made me explain to her why her son had to die." 

"Harsh," Theodore says. 

"He modified her memories afterward and sent her packing her bags, but he still made me talk to her and listen to her crying about it for almost two hours," Draco says, looking at the floor. For all he's complaining about it, however, it seems like it affected him more deeply than he's willing to let on. 

"But he's not going to do anything else about it, is he?" Blaise asks. 

"I don't think so," Draco says. "He can't do much else without blowing the cover off of it. You guys didn't tell Hermione, did you?" 

"No, why?" Blaise asks. 

"Just... well... um... maybe it would be best if she didn't find out about this," Draco says, shifting uneasily. 

"It feels wrong keeping secrets from someone in the inner circle," I say quietly. 

"Yeah, but, you know, she's like Dean..." Draco says. "I don't want her to start thinking that it might be a good idea to turn on us for the greater good or any such bullshit like that. Or to start thinking that we're evil or anything..." 

"She was there when Lockhart was killed," I point out. "And she didn't even feel sympathetic for Pettigrew." 

"But Dean is -- well, was -- a fellow student," Draco says. "She might think that we've finally crossed the line and that we need to be stopped!" 

"I think you just have a crush on her," Blaise says, quirking his lips into a grin. 

"I do not!" Draco protests. 

"Fine, if you don't want Hermione to find out about this, then she won't find out about this," I say. "Let the rest of the circle know what the 'official story' is and never to utter another word to contradict it." 

"Alright," Blaise says, nodding. 

"Thanks, guys," Draco says quietly.


	60. Dirty Purity

A week later, Fudge and his Ministry goons burst into the Great Hall during lunchtime. I look up in alarm and set aside my fork. This is never a good sign, I think. 

"Good day, Minister," Dumbledore says, getting up and approaching them. "What brings you to Hogwarts today?" 

"Dumbledore!" Fudge says indignantly. "Sirius Black is still hiding out in this castle, there's still a werewolf threatening the students, and you still haven't done anything about this!" 

"I assure you, Mr. Fudge, we're doing everything we can--" Dumbledore says. 

"I don't believe you!" Fudge snaps. 

I have to wonder if Fudge is really trying to make a spectacle out of all of this. If he'd wanted a private conversation with Dumbledore, he could have just sent an owl, or Flooed directly to the Headmaster's office. But instead he storms right in the front gates, in the middle of lunch, no less. He wants an audience, clearly. 

"Mr. Fudge..." Dumbledore says with more patience than I would be able to display. 

"I've had enough of your excuses," Fudge says. "The children are in danger here, and even now, they're starting to withdraw and hide away for their own safety. I will not stand for this." 

"Mr. Fudge--" McGonagall says, coming up to stand next to Dumbledore. 

Lupin interrupts her. "I believe I can shed some light on things here," he says. "This entire situation has been blown out of proportion by excessive and wild rumors." 

No, no, no. Don't do this, Moony. Please don't do this. 

"I am the werewolf in question," Lupin says. 

The room is so quiet you could hear a pixie fluttering. 

Snape steps up to stand beside Lupin. "I have been diligently preparing wolfsbane potion for him every month. I have taken all the necessary precautions. If he's foolish enough to forget to drink it, that's not my business." 

"And I assure you that Remus Lupin is anything but foolish," Dumbledore says. 

"You!" Fudge exclaims. "You are the one who has been rampaging about at night, mauling students? And Dumbledore dares to have you _teaching_ students? This is atrocious!" 

"He has most certainly not been _rampaging_ \--" McGonagall begins. 

"I will have you out of this school immediately!" Fudge declares. "And I will have you in Azkaban before you know what hits you!" 

"You can't--" Dumbledore tries to protest. 

But Fudge isn't listening. He directs his lackeys forward to apprehend Lupin. They confiscate his wand and bind him with spells, and start to take him away. He's not even fighting back. Damn it, why does he just surrender like this? 

I can't just stand by watching and letting this happen. I stumble over the table, wand in hand and spells on my tongue to protect my _friend_. 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I cry. " _Flipendo! Mimble Wimble!_

I take them by surprise and manage to disarm one of the wizards and disable another, but I don't think I have much hope against more experienced adult wizards here. Even with the help of my friends, who are coming up behind me and backing me up. Rage is boiling in my blood, however, and I don't really care what happens next. 

"Potter!" Fudge growls. "You dare attack servants of the Ministry of Magic?" 

"I dare protect my friend!" I scream. " _Fulgoris!_ " 

My friends and I hail curses upon the enemy wizards, but they're too good for us, and most of us can't even cast a proper Shield Charm. I think I might have even killed one of them. And then a curse hits me full on, and I stagger, vision blurring. I'm not entirely certain what hit me, but I'm down, flat on the floor in pain. 

People are yelling my name, but it sounds like they're a thousand miles away, and underwater. I think I'm bleeding. My life is quickly leaving me, and death takes me in moments. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory, still shaking a little. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was not the smartest way I could have handled that. 

I have Potions this morning, and don't really care to repeat that class period, although I suppose I could use the practice. My Potions scores are still barely acceptable, after all. But I'd much rather be spending the time trying to figure out a way to deal with this encroaching problem. 

I go to see Moony before breakfast. This had better not be the last time I ever see him in this life. I don't want to lose him now, not after everything we've been through. 

"Good morning, Stormseeker," Moony says. "Is there a problem?" 

I mutter a few quick privacy spells. "The Ministry's coming at lunchtime," I say. "Fudge is pretty damned pissed." 

"What?" Moony says, frowning. "How did you... What happened?" 

"They were going to take you away," I say. "They wanted to haul you off to Azkaban." 

"There's no way that they could justify that," Moony says. 

"You're talking about the assholes who didn't even give Padfoot a trial," I say. 

"What did you do?" Moony asks. 

"Stupidly got myself killed trying to protect you," I say, smirking. 

"Oh, Harry," Moony says, shaking his head. 

"Don't you dare go up and surrender to them, Moony," I say. 

"Harry, don't do this," Moony says. "Don't sacrifice yourself for my sake." 

"And don't you sacrifice yourself for mine!" I snap. "And I swear to you, if you wind up in Azkaban, I will tear down the walls of that place with my bare hands if need be to get you out!" 

Moony sighs. "I'm sure it won't come to that, Harry," he says. "I'd really prefer that you didn't go attacking Ministry employees for my sake, please." 

I rub my eyes. This is getting nowhere. "Alright, Moony. I've given you my warning. What you do with it is up to you." 

I go to eat breakfast, then obligatorily practice at Potions some more, and then lunch comes along again. Just as before, Fudge comes storming in again along with his lackeys. He starts blustering and fuming, flinging accusations left and right. And then Moony goes to confess and offer to resign again, despite my warning. 

"You will be out of this school at once!" Fudge declares. "And you will be in Azkaban before you can blink!" 

I sigh inwardly. I still can't let this happen. I dart across the room to stand next to Moony. "I won't let you do this," I say. "I stand with Remus Lupin." 

"Nor will I," Draco says, taking a position next to me. 

"Nor I," Neville says, joining us. 

First the inner circle proclaims their support. Then the rest of Storm Army, and a number of other students. 

"He's the best Defense teacher I've ever had," Gemma says. 

"Remus Lupin is great!" Ginny exclaims. "You won't take him from us." 

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Ron says, looking scandalized. "He supports the Stormseeker!" 

"Ron, don't be a prat," Ginny tells him. "Not everything is about Harry Potter!" 

"I appreciate the support, kids," Lupin says. "But--" 

"But nothing!" Draco snaps. "The rumors are false and you know it." 

"I won't stand by and let you ruin the reputation of a good man," Neville says. 

"Dumbledore!" Fudge exclaims furiously. "What have you been teaching these children to think that it's acceptable to speak to the Minister of Magic in such a way?" 

"That," Dumbledore says, "is Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Stormseeker. He has a way about him, you could say. You or I can no more control him than you could a storm." 

I can't take these people on in a straight-up fight. Perhaps I should try diplomacy. Theodore's book suggested that the best way to get what you want is to first figure out what the other person wants. What is Fudge's stake in all this? I would imagine that it isn't just to protect the children, much as he claims. I make a guess that what he really wants is power and control, and he fears that he's rapidly losing his control here. 

I go up to Fudge and say quietly, "Minister, no offense, but I don't think that fighting this battle like this will be in your best interest." 

"Is that a threat, boy?" Fudge hisses. 

"No," I say. "Just an observation. When is the next election?" 

"Hmph," Fudge says, looking about the room with eyes moving rapidly across the students standing in support of Lupin. 

"Mr. Fudge, there is no need for this," Lupin says. "I'll resign, I won't be any danger to the children--" 

"No way," I snap at him to be quiet, then turn back to Fudge to continue more quietly. "Wouldn't you rather have my support than my antagonism? Perhaps we can come to a reasonable compromise instead." 

"I am not an unreasonable man," Fudge says, straightening his clothes deliberately. "The children clearly love this beast, for whatever deluded reason that might be. What do you propose, Mr. Potter?" 

"Allow him to teach the remainder of the term," I say. "Let him resign of his own accord at the end of the year. Don't arrest him or send him to Azkaban. And in exchange, you will have... my gratitude and support." 

"Hmm..." Fudge says thoughtfully, looking at me calculatingly. I have to wonder if he was in Slytherin when he was in school. "Your support could indeed be a valuable thing... Very well. Your terms are acceptable." He holds out his hand, and I look at it for half a moment before taking it to shake it. I'm used to bowing to people. Shaking hands still seems weird. But this is clearly a gesture of sealing a deal, rather than a respectful greeting. 

"Thank you, Mr. Fudge," I say. "I look forward to doing business with you." 

Fudge speaks up and addresses the room. "Carry on, students. I apologize for the interruption. I'll be on my way now." He turns and leaves the room, taking his lackeys with him. 

Draco is staring at the doors as he goes. "Did you just talk down the Minister of Magic?" 

"I feel dirty," I say, shoulders slumping a little. "And Theodore, I could kiss you." 

"Aw, how sweet," Theodore says. "But don't say things like that and not follow through." 

I snicker softly, and then go over to plant a wet one smack on Theodore's lips. So far as first kisses go, it's nothing impressive. I don't understand why some of the girls seem to obsess over them. 

* * *

I have no idea how or _why_ a picture of me snogging Theodore winds up on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning. At least the picture of me shaking hands with Fudge also appears, and is bigger. I just roll my eyes at that, chuck the paper over to Theodore, and go back to eating breakfast. 

With the Ministry off of Moony's back for the moment, I can hope for a bit of a breather, at least. Aside from the fact that now the entire wizarding world seems to think that Theodore Nott is my boyfriend. 

"I always knew there was something queer about you," Ron says during one Dueling Club. "You better not be ogling me while I'm changing!" 

"Ron, quit being a prat," Ginny says. 

" _Mimble Wimble_ ," I cast to make Ron shut up about it already. 

"I'd say he's just jealous he hasn't got a boyfriend yet," Blaise says. 

I think this is one rumor I can safely ignore, however. Neither I nor Theodore is the least bit serious about anything, and Storm Army doesn't care, so what does it really matter? I'm not about to insult Theodore by denying it, but I don't particularly care to acknowledge it either, especially when it's not true anyway. So I just let it go. 

It takes about a month for the rumor to die, but it does eventually get forgotten. 

* * *

"Sirius, I trust you have been well?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Well enough," Sirius says. "The boys have been taking good care of me." He chuckles in amusement. "They've been watching my back and letting me get some practice in, too. I never thought that I'd be reliving third year vicariously in the Slytherin dorms!" 

"Don't tell me you're actually starting to like the Slytherins, Sirius?" I jab him teasingly. 

"Of course not," Sirius says, a little too quickly. 

I grin at him. "Sure you're not." 

"Sirius, I'll need you to come with me to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for a bit," Dumbledore says. "I'm going to be setting things up and checking the wards, and since the house will only recognize you as its proper owner, you'll need to be there. I'd also like to cast the Fidelius Charm over it. Who would you like to be the Secret-Keeper?" 

"Harry, of course," Sirius replies immediately. 

"Are you absolutely certain on that?" Dumbledore asks. 

Sirius looks at him as though he's just said something stupid. "Harry's not Peter," he says, and then snorts in amusement. "And considering his... unique circumstances, I know quite well that he _would_ rather die than betray me." 

"And what do you think of this, Harry?" Dumbledore asks. 

I nod. "I'll do it," I say. "I don't know that I'd fully trust my judgment, but my paranoia factor has increased consirably over this past term." 

"Well, _I_ trust your judgment," Sirius says. "You couldn't have predicted what Dean would do. But after watching your friends stand up to the Minister of Magic at your side without hesitation like that, I think you've chosen well." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says. "Let's go and take care of it. This may take a little while." 

"Good to have it done before Easter holiday, though," Sirius says. "It'll be nice to have someplace I can go where I don't have to pretend to be a dog." 

Dumbledore, Sirius, Moony, and I head over to Grimmauld Place by portkey. I've totally got to learn that spell sometime, but it's probably way above my level right now. 

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place is a big, old pureblood house that doesn't look like anyone has actually lived in it for years. Which is an observation of the obvious, really. Perhaps it's just that it's an overcast, dreary day, but the place seems more than a little dark. 

"Never thought I'd be coming back here again," Sirius says. "But I suppose that's just as well, as then people might not suspect that I'd ever come back here!" 

"It will be safe enough, I believe," Dumbledore says as we head inside. 

The doorway opens into a hallway, and along the way, a portrait of a woman catches sight of us. "Filth! Mudbloods! Blood traitors!" she screams. "Sirius, how dare you return to the house of my fathers after I cast you out!" 

"Hello, mother," Sirius groans. 

"That's your mother?" I wonder. 

"You have the distinct pleasure of meeting Walburga Black," Sirius drawls. 

"And who is this brat you have brought into this sacred house?" Walburga demands. "Some half-blood offspring you got off a Mudblood witch?" 

"I'm Harry Potter," I say. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Black." I give a polite bow toward the portrait. 

"Polite half-blood scum is still half-blood scum," Walburga says. "You should know your place!" 

"I assure you, Lady Black, I am a pureblood," I say. 

"Nonsense!" Walburga retorts. "Your mother was that filthy Mudblood that the Potter boy, James, ran after, wasn't she?" 

"That was a mistake," I say. "As it turns out, my mother is actually the descendant of an ancient pureblood line." 

"Hmph," Walburga says. "Well, I have no way to dispute that claim. But Sirius! Dirty blood traitor! Muggle lover!" 

"Is this the way you treat your beloved, repentent son returning home after spending over a decade in Azkaban?" I say. 

"I-- what?" Sirius says. "I'm not--" 

I step on his foot. "He's long since seen the error of his former ways. Haven't you, Sirius?" 

"Uh..." Sirius says. "Oh, yes, quite, quite. It was all merely the foolishness of youth." 

Walburga peers at him appraisingly, and then glances at Moony. "And what of this mangy creature?" 

"Um... a housepet?" I venture. 

"And what is Albus Dumbledore doing here?" she demands. 

"I'm merely here to perform some advanced spellwork and make certain that the wards are still intact," Dumbledore says. "That is all." 

Walburga snorts softly. "I'm still not convinced that you're truly repentent, Sirius. Why couldn't you have been more like your brother?" 

"Come now," I say. "He's had a rough time of it. I've been hiding him out in the Slytherin dorms, but this is his home! He's still a fugitive from the law, a murderer, and will need the protection of this place as a safe haven. Would you deny that to your long lost wayward son, returning home to his rightful place?" 

Walburga grumbles a little. "Fine. Welcome home, Sirius. And for your sake, the boy better be telling the truth. If I see anyone in here that I don't approve of, you'll never get a moment's rest in this house!" She goes back to glaring at Moony. 

Moony bows graciously to the painting and says, "Pay me no mind, Lady Black. I am merely a humble manservant and bodyguard." 

Walburga grumbles a bit more. "Go on, then. And Sirius! You'd better find a good pureblood witch to marry! You might not have been my ideal son, but I'll be quite cross with you if the Ancient and Noble House of Black dies with you!" 

Sirius groans a little. "Yes, mother. I'll be sure to look into getting an heir." 

We continue on past the painting and out of the hallway. Sadly, the portrait isn't the last of our potential problems. While we're inspecting the kitchen, a bedraggled house-elf comes out an accosts us. 

"You!" the house-elf screams. "You dare return to the noble house of Black? What would my old mistress think if she saw you here?" 

Sirius groans again. "Kreacher," he mutters. "I would have hoped you'd died by now." 

"Now, now, Sirius," I say. "You should always be kind to house-elves. After all, Lucius Malfoy says so." 

Sirius stares at me like I'm insane. " _Lucius_ said that? What the hell did you do, put him under the Imperius Curse or something?" 

"Although I kind of have to wonder why he hasn't gone back on that despite what happened..." I murmur. 

"Never mind," Sirius says. "I'm starting to think that you must have the entire damned wizarding world under the Imperius Curse. You're insane." 

Kreacher is staring at both of us like we're insane. I've apparently successfully stricken a house-elf speechless. 

"Anyway," I say. "Hello, Kreacher. I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you. We've already had a little talk with Walburga's portrait in the hallway and explained the situation to her. Your loyalty is quite commendable." 

"Harry, do I have to be nice to the house-elf?" Sirius whines. 

"Yes, you have to be nice to the house-elf," I say. "If you don't, you can sleep in the doghouse." 

Sirius smirks. "But he was always miserable to me when I was younger." 

"If Lucius Malfoy can be nice to house-elves, so can you," I retort. "Or do you want to be more of a dick than Lucius Malfoy?" 

"Oh, now that's a low blow," Sirius says. "Fine! Kreacher! I'm glad to see you! This place really looks like it could use a lot of work! I just escaped from Azkaban, you know, and I'm feeling _quite_ repentent about my foolish former youthful, uh, foolishness. So, can you start getting this place cleaned up? I'm hoping to spend Easter here with my beloved godson, who is totally actually a pureblood." 

Kreacher stares at Sirius in disbelief. "Oh, mistress would be so pleased!" Kreacher exclaims. "I'll get to work immediately!" He vanishes with a pop. 

"It's always good to be kind to house-elves," Dumbledore says. "They can cause no end of trouble for a master that they dislike." 

"You're both insane," Sirius says with a snort. 

"September 19th is House-Elf Appreciation Day," I say brightly. 

"Completely barmy," Sirius adds. 

"Let's get this charm taken care of," Dumbledore says. 

"Will I need to do anything?" I ask. 

"Come with me," Dumbledore says. 

We make preparations for the spell. It seems very complex and powerful. There isn't much that I have to do, since it's Dumbledore that's casting the spell and not me, but I need to be present and willingly accept the secret. 

"So how will this work?" I ask. 

"The secret will be locked within you," Dumbledore says. "Only those who you tell it to directly will be able to learn of it, and they cannot reveal it. It cannot be extracted with Legilimency or Veratiserum. It has to be given willingly, and only by you. If you die, all those who have been told the secret will become Secret-Keepers." 

"I see," I say. 

I wonder why this spell wasn't used to keep the secret of my not being Harry Potter, or my being a time traveler, or even that of Moony being a werewolf. Perhaps it only works on locations? I wonder if there's another version of it that might work on any secret. Could be good to look into sometime. I seem to have quite a large need for keeping secrets, after all. 

Once we're back at Hogwarts, Sirius says, "Do I really need to be nice to that house-elf?" 

I sigh and smirk at him. " _Yes_ , Sirius." 

"And why am I pretending to be a good Black or something, anyway?" Sirius asks. 

"Who's going to know the difference?" I say. "Easier to lie to a painting than get screamed at every time you walk in." 

"What if Kreacher notices something?" Sirius asks. 

"I imagine if you're nice enough to him, by the time he realizes, he won't care anymore anyway," I say, shrugging. "Pureblood supremacy is silly, but easy enough to get around. Have you noticed the Slytherins don't bat an eye at Hermione anymore? Even the ones who aren't in my circle?" 

"How _did_ you manage to accomplish that?" Sirius wonders. 

"I started a rumor that she's really Ravenclaw's secret heir," I say, snickering. "Turns out that they'd rather believe that, than that this Mudblood witch is somehow the top of her year out of nowhere." 

"I don't think that's really helping the cause of bringing down pureblood supremacy," Sirius points out. 

"As I've told Rispy, you can't change deep-seated, long-held beliefs overnight," I say. 

"Who's Rispy?" Sirius wonders. 

"A free-born elf who has been trying to put an end to the slavery of his people," I explain. 

"Oh," Sirius says, blinking. "How's that working out for him?" 

"He's currently assisting teaching Care of Magical Creatures," I say. "And is at least more sensible about that than Hagrid. Probably the main reason there haven't been many injuries in that class." 

* * *

For Easter holiday, I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place along with Sirius and Moony. Kreacher has made good progress on getting things cleaned up, to the point where it's hardly recognizable as the same house. 

The day after Easter sunday, all of my friends arrive by portkey. Outside the house, I tell Hermione, "Remember, no mention of your parentage unless you really want a painting screaming at us all." 

"Right," Hermione says, nodding. 

I lead them inside. "Everyone, this is Walburga Black," I say, gesturing to the portrait. 

"And who are these children?" Walburga asks. "No filthy Mudbloods or blood traitors, I hope?" 

"Certainly not," I say. "These are my friends, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood." I really ought to learn Crabbe and Goyle's first names sometime. 

"Oh, yes, there are some good pureblood names there..." Walburga concedes. "But, Longbottom? Aren't they blood traitors? Your parents--" 

"Don't speak of my parents," Neville says, glaring at the painting hard. "Look at who I'm associating with. And would you like the names of the Mudbloods I've helped to kill?" 

Walburga looks positively delighted. "Oh, that's wonderful! Another pureblood line has returned to its proper place!" 

We continue on into the house, and I say to Neville, "Thanks for that, but are you sure you're okay with this?" 

"I'm fine," Neville says. "She's just a painting, anyway. And it's not like anyone actually alive in this house did ever anything to my family." 

"She didn't even notice my name," Hermione murmurs. 

"There might be some obscure pureblood line with that name?" I say, shrugging. "Or she just got distracted with Neville. I don't know. Doesn't matter. The painting is happy, the house-elf is happy, good enough for me." 

"There's an awful lot of nargles in here," Luna says in distaste. 

The next day, most of my friends return to their homes, but Draco holds back. 

"Not going home, Draco?" I ask. 

Draco shakes his head. "I just... I can't do it. I don't like seeing my father like this. Especially knowing that it's all a lie. It's easier if I just stay away from him, you know?" 

I nod. "I understand." 

We join Moony for tea. The house is quieter without so many people around, but it's so big and with so much room that now it just feels a little empty. The place is just begging to be used as my secret headquarters. 

"So, everyone knows you're a werewolf now, Professor Lupin," Draco says. "Have you had much trouble because of it?" 

"Not really," Moony says. "Surprising, really. The students have been very supportive. Even the ones I would have expected to be most vehemently against it." 

"The Slytherins, you mean?" Draco says with a smirk. 

"I wasn't going to say that," Moony says. 

"No, but you were thinking it," Draco says, chuckling. "It's alright. Maybe things would have been different if it weren't for the Stormseeker. But maybe not. You're a great teacher. By this point, everyone should really _expect_ that the Defense teacher probably has some dark secret of some sort. And frankly, being a werewolf is the most tame dark secret I've heard of." 

"If that's tame, I hate to ask what your other teachers were like," Moony says. 

"First year, our teacher was possessed by the Dark Lord," I say lightly. "And he kept killing me." 

Moony stares at me. "You take that entirely too much in stride, I think." 

I shrug. "Not really. But I'd have gone crazy by now if I didn't have a sense of humor about it. Sometimes I feel like I'm a bad luck magnet, but that doesn't explain the ridiculously unlikely ways I've managed to find to die in." I snort softly. "After seeing the state this house used to be in, I kept half expecting to be killed by some sort of creatures that might be infesting the place. Like those weird furry eight-legged fairy things, what were they called again?" 

"Doxies, and I think we got rid of them all," Sirius says, coming in. "And there's definitely no rats in here. But there's a room full of old dark stuff, some nasty looking books, and whatnot. I'm thinking of getting rid of some of it." 

My eyes widen in delight. "Certainly not," I say. "There might be something useful and interesting in there!" 

"You really shouldn't be poking around in that sort of thing, you know," Sirius says. 

"It can't be worse than the Chamber of Secrets," I say. 

Sirius sighs. "Oh, whatever. Fine, I'll leave it be. Do what you want. But don't come complaining to me if you get killed by something." 

I go over and hug Sirius. "Thanks! You're the best godfather ever!" 

"Are you just saying that because I'm not even really trying to be any sort of father figure?" Sirius says. "You're going to do whatever you want anyway... and it seems a little silly to try to keep an immortal being out of harm's way. Even if it does seem you get into some nasty things for a thirteen year old boy." 

"I'm turning fifteen in May," I say. 

"Huh?" Sirius says. "How does that even work? Oh... right, that. Doesn't that get confusing?" 

"A little," I admit. 

"Fine, I'll amend that," Sirius says. "You get into some nasty things for an almost-fifteen year old boy. And are those Dream Sweets I've seen you taking at night?" 

"Yes," I reply. 

Sirius sighs. "My godson is a murderer, a dark wizard, and a drug addict. I'm a horrible godfather." 

"Nah," Draco says.


	61. Rainbow

The last full moon of the school year is in late May. I'll be glad to be able to spend the next couple ones safely away from Hogwarts. I've made the excuse of keeping Professor Lupin company in order to excuse my absenses, but I won't have that excuse next year. Nobody outside of the circle yet suspects me of being a werewolf. 

The day following the last night of transformation, we lounge around resting, sleeping, regaining our strength well into the evening. There's a heat wave going on at the moment that's left the three of us panting as canines even at night. It's raining when we finally wake, and I hope that it might cool things down a bit. Still, we're not too eager to head back to the castle in the rain, so we wait around a bit longer, but it shows no signs of abating. We finally head out to try and get back in before dark. 

As we emerge from the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, I feel a bone-numbing, unnatural cold. A flash of lightning silhouettes shadowy figures approaching us in the darkness of the storm. 

"Shit," I murmur. "Dementors." 

"They're blocking the way back," Sirius says. 

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Moony casts. A silvery wolf springs forth from his wand to stand between us and the Dementors, but there's too many of them. "Run!" 

Sirius doesn't need to be told twice. I grab Moony's sleeve and turn to flee toward the Forbidden Forest. There must be at least a hundred Dementors chasing after us. 

"Damn it, what are they doing back on the school grounds?" I say. "After the Quidditch debacle and that crazy inspection, I wouldn't expect Dumbledore to let them get close again!" 

"I don't know, but they seem to be hungry," Sirius says. "They've been denied their meal for too long." 

They're still after us, despite Moony's attempts to ward them off with his Patronus. There's no hope of losing them in the Forbidden Forest. And with the rain and darkness, we can hardly see where we're going as it is. 

"Can we circle around back to the gates?" I ask. 

"Too many of them..." Moony says. "We're surrounded." 

"Look," Sirius says. "It's me they're after. The two of you can escape if I give myself over to them..." 

"No fucking way," I say. 

"I'll echo Harry's sentiment in a less vulgar manner," Moony says. "Besides, with them in this sort of state, I have to doubt that they'd stop with you, anyway." 

" _Eexpecto Patronum!_ " I cast, trying to focus on the taste of pancakes. But it's no use. The shimmering wisp of light that comes forth wouldn't hold anything off for a second. 

"Merlin, they're everywhere," Sirius breathes. 

I trip over something, slipping in the mud, and go tumbling down into the dark. "Gah!" I cry out. The Dementors will be on me in a moment, I'm sure of it. But I didn't land on the ground, but under it. 

"Harry!" Moony calls. "Where are you?" 

"Down here!" I reply. 

Sirius and Moony slide down as well. "Looks like a cave or something," Sirius says. 

We move back further in, with the Patronus wolf guarding us as best as it can. At least it seems to be a little easier with a choke point, so that we're not just out in the open and surrounded on all sides. Unfortunately, that's where our luck runs out, as the tunnel doesn't go very far before ending in a cave-in. 

"Dead end," I say, sighing. "Shit." 

I turn around to look at the way we came in. The silvery wolf Patronus is snarling at the Dementors, who don't dare approach too closely, but neither can we manage any headway against that many. At least we're out of the rain in here, for whatever small consolation that gives considering that we're still soaking wet. 

"Is there any other way out of here?" I say. "Can you guys Apparate from here?" 

Moony shakes his head. "We're still within the Hogwarts wards, unfortunately. I'd been hoping we could get far enough away, but no such luck." 

"Portkey?" I ask. 

"Only the Headmaster can make portkeys to and from Hogwarts," Moony replies. 

I sigh. "If we're well and truly trapped, I could just kill us with an overpowered Lightning Curse and go back to warn us." 

"I don't know that it would help, though," Sirius says. "They were on us the moment we stepped out of the passageway. I think they must have just been waiting for us." 

"Do Dementors _do_ that sort of thing?" I wonder. 

"Damned if I know what goes on under those hoods of theirs," Sirius says. 

The Dementors peer at us with their lifeless faces from the end of the tunnel. I'm glad that Moony's Patronus is holding the better part of their aura at bay, but how long can he keep it up? 

"I'd use my Patronus to send a message back to the teachers to come and rescue us," Moony says. "But that would leave us undefended." 

"Maybe one of us can manage to cast it..." I say. 

"I don't know if there's much hope of me pulling it off," Sirius says. "Not after Azkaban. It's hard to remember any happy memories..." 

I hug him. "Sirius, damn it, if we get out of this alive, I'll give you all the happy memories you could ever hope for." 

"Well, for your sake, I'll give it a shot," Sirius says, pulling out a wand. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " Silvery vapor emerges from his wand, but nothing more. 

I pull a bit of chocolate out of my bag, take a bite of it, and pass the rest over to Sirius. "Have some," I say. 

Sirius takes a bite of the chocolate, and then tries again. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " The spell comes out a bit stronger this time, but still doesn't coalesce into a corporeal Patronus. 

"You can do it, Padfoot," I say. "We'll get out of this. We're going to spend the summer together. And everything will be safe, and happy, and peaceful..." 

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Sirius casts, causing more swirling silver tendrils to drift out of his wand. " _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_ " 

"Please, do it for me," I say with a wavering voice, staring at him, heart pounding. "I love you, Padfoot." 

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Sirius says, and this time, a dog made of shining moonlight leaps from the tip of his wand. He turns to face me in surprise. "What the hell was that?" 

"A confession, I think," I say sheepishly. 

"I'm sure he meant as a godfather, or friend, or something," Moony reasons. 

"Not exactly..." I say, shifting a little. 

Sirius grunts. "Right now, I don't care. If you don't mean it, please wait until we're safely inside the castle to tell me so." 

"I meant it," I say quietly. 

"I'm not going to think too hard on this at the moment," Sirius says, turning to his dog Patronus. "Go find Albus Dumbledore. Tell him we're trapped by Dementors in the Forbidden Forest." 

The silvery dog nods, and vanishes straight through solid rock and dirt. I put my hand on Sirius's shoulder reassuringly. 

"Well, we've both cast the charm now," Sirius says. "When's yours coming up?" He gives me a grin. 

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," I cast, thinking about Sirius. The bright field that erupts from my wand causes the Dementors a moment of pause, but nothing more. I shake my head with a sigh. "Maybe I just can't actually cast this spell at all..." 

"Don't think like that, Stormseeker," Sirius says. "Don't give up. Isn't that what you always say? It's not like you to give up." 

"Blame the Dementors," I say, grabbing another bit of chocolate from my bag and taking a bite. 

We're left waiting for Sirius' Patronus to return for quite some time, probably because it had to get past the Dementors and back to the castle, I suppose. Do Patronuses (or would it be Patroni?) traverse the intervening space when they go to give a message to someone? I'd think that would make it awfully obvious that someone is sending a message, and who and to whom it was being sent, and I've never actually spotted one doing so. 

The shimmering dog finally returns, and Sirius' shoulders slump dejectedly. "Couldn't reach Dumbledore," Sirius say. "Looks like he's already asleep." 

"Try someone else," I say. "McGonagall, maybe?" 

"Alright," Sirius says. He tells the Patronus, "Take a message to Minerva McGonagall that we're trapped in the Forbidden Forest surrounded by Dementors." 

The dog Patronus nods, and then zips away again. 

I glance over to Moony, who is nibbling on a bit of chocolate himself. "How are you holding up?" I ask. 

"I'm alright," Moony says. "I can't keep this up forever, but I'll hold the line as long as I have to if it'll keep you and Padfoot safe." 

The storm continues to pour down outside. I can hear it pounding against the ground, and the thunder rumbling overhead. "Is there anything but the Patronus Charm that would be effective against Dementors?" I ask. 

"Doubtful," Moony says. "And they're immortal; even the Patronus Charm can't actually kill them." 

That would seem to imply that they're not even actually alive to begin with. They're some sort of spirits, manifestations of emotions? I don't know. 

Sirius' Patronus eventually returns with another failure. "I can't reach McGonagall either," Sirius says. "Damn it!" 

"Try someone else!" I say. "Snape! Anyone!" 

"You have got to be kidding me," Sirius says. "Ask for help from Snivellus?" 

"He might actually still be awake!" I say. "He's kind of like a bat, you know?" 

Sirius snorts softly. "And do you really think that he'd come and help us?" 

"Just tell him that I'm here," I say. "I'm sure he will. It's worth a try, isn't it?" 

Sirius sighs. "Fine, you have a point, I suppose." He turns to the Patronus and says, "Go find Severus Snape. Tell him, I'd never expect to be asking you of all people for help, but Remus, Harry, and I are trapped in the Forbidden Forest and surrounded by Dementors. Please. Help." 

The dog Patronus leaves one more time. I sit down in the dirt, shivering a little. Am I cold because I'm still wet, or because of the Dementors nearby? Or both? I've never felt so trapped and hopeless before. Usually when I'm about to die, I'm dead in pretty short order. But here I'm left with nothing but time to think about my impending doom, and the Dementors nearby to make certain that's what's on my mind. 

Sirius puts a firm hand on my shoulder. "Buck up, Stormseeker," he says. "We'll get out of here. I won't let it end here. Not a chance in hell." 

I grin at him. I wave my wand and say, " _Expecto Patronum._ " Still no real success. "Maybe it's because I'm a dark wizard... can dark wizards even cast this sort of light magic?" 

"Not generally, no," Sirius says. 

"I always figured it was just because they weren't very happy people," I say. "Or that their happiest memories were horrible, sadistic things, or something." 

"You've always been better at curses than charms, though," Moony says. 

"Snape can cast it, though..." I say. 

"Well, Snivellus is just a bit of an oddball," Sirius says. 

After a while, the dog returns one last time, along with a doe, who says in Snape's voice, "I am on my way. Stay put." The doe vanishes again. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck, he's coming," I say. 

"I don't know how grateful I should really be," Sirius says. "But I won't look a gift bat in the mouth." 

His dog Patronus goes to stand by Moony's wolf to keep watch and hold the Dementors off. The wolf looks relieved to have the assistance. I don't know how a translucent spirit animal thing can look tired and weary, but Moony's Patronus certainly seems like it by this point. Neither of them seems particularly strong, really. I wish Moony and Padfoot could be happier. I hope Snape brings some help. I don't know that he'll be able to get through all these Dementors by himself. 

The storm continues on unabated. How long can it go on? I try several more times to cast the Patronus Charm in the intervening period, still without success. I'm out of chocolate now, and the presence of the Dementors is starting to wear me down despite the protection of the luminous spirit animals. There's no way we'll be saved. I should just give up now. 

And then the darkness parts. The Dementors back away, and a beautiful silvery bird flies in, sending them scattering. That's Dumbledore's Patronus! I'm not sure what kind of bird it is. Maybe a phoenix? 

"He brought Dumbledore!" Sirius says. 

A translucent cat jumps down into the cave as well, and Moony adds, "And McGonagall." 

Finally, Snape's doe appears, and the three teachers climb down into the tunnel and approach us. "So you _are_ here after all, Sirius Black," Snape says. "Believe me, I came here for the sake of Lily's son, not for you." 

"I think, whatever might be said of Sirius, he's obviously not trying to kill Harry," McGonagall says. 

"I'd never harm one hair on his head," Sirius says. 

"Sirius didn't betray the Potters," I say. "Peter was their Secret-Keeper. Didn't Dumbledore tell you that already?" 

"No, he did not," McGonagall says, glancing aside to Dumbledore. 

"I don't believe that this is the time or place for this discussion," Dumbledore says. "Come, let's get you boys to safety." 

As we head out of the cave and back toward the castle, I ask, "What's gotten the Dementors so riled up, anyway?" The Dementors are finally being driven back before us, and the horde is dispersing. 

"I believe it's because they were promised Sirius Black," Dumbledore says. "Rightly or wrongly, they believe he's theirs. And they're tired of waiting." 

"Tell me more about who really betrayed the Potters," Snape says. "How did you learn this?" 

"And why did you not tell us, Albus?" McGonagall says. "I spent the entire year worrying about the safety of my students!" 

"Under the circumstances, I did not believe it prudent," Dumbledore says. 

" _Prudent_?" McGonagall says. "How can believing an innocent man is a threat to my student be prudent?" 

"They changed their Secret-Keeper over to Peter Pettigrew at the last minute and didn't tell anyone," I explain. "Peter then faked his own death and framed Sirius for it." 

"Let me guess," Snape says. "You didn't believe it was prudent because Black found Pettigrew and actually committed the murder he was imprisoned for anyway?" He glances back at us. "Right, the looks on your faces say all that need be said on that." 

"Albus, is this true?" McGonagall says. 

Dumbledore sighs. "It's true." 

"The dirty traitor had it coming," Sirius says. "He's the reason James and Lily are dead! He was a spy for over a year before then and we had no idea!" 

"I see why you did not wish this to get out, Albus," McGonagall mutters. "But I still wish you would have told us." 

"Indeed," Snape agrees. "I find no fault in his actions." 

"Wait, did Snivellus actually give me a compliment?" Sirius says. "Of a sort, anyway?" 

Snape rolls his eyes. "I do so wish that you would desist in calling me by that childish name," Snape says. "And that was not a compliment, merely an observation." 

"Sirius," I say. "He just saved our tails. I don't think that's too much to ask for." 

"Damn it, Harry, why do you always have a point?" Sirius says, snorting softly. "First you want me to be nice to house-elves, and now to Sni-- uh, Severus?" 

I grin at him. "Yep." 

"What am I going to do with you?" Sirius says, chuckling and sighing. 

By the time we get out of the Forbidden Forest, the sun is rising, and the storm has tapered off. I look across to the lake, where a vibrant rainbow hangs in the sky above the water. The storm has ended. The danger has passed. My friends are safe. For one fleeting moment that feels like forever, I am calmer and happier than I have ever been. 

I realize, for all the fear, despair, and darkness that may shadow my life, things will work out in the end, one way or another. All things shall pass, in time. Life may not always be perfect, but perhaps it is its flaws that give it meaning. Like this glorious shimmering rainbow over the lake, it could not have come to pass if it weren't for the storm. 

It's the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. 

"So, about what you said to me back in the cave..." Sirius says to me quietly. 

"I still mean it," I say. 

"Yeah..." Sirius says. "Yeah... How about we talk about this again in, say, five years or so..." 

I laugh aloud. "It doesn't matter," I say. "Right now, I'm happy with what I have." 

* * *

Exams are upon us, and I think I'm going fairly well in most of my classes, except Potions, which I'm still barely scraping by in, and History of Magic and Astronomy, which I just plain don't really care about. 

And then there's the final meeting of the Dueling Club. The Fire Guardians are in the lead by only a few points, with Storm Army just behind them. The Owl Order is third by a significant margin, and the Fluffy Bunny Legion is in last place, although they don't seem to care all that much. 

"It seems to me that my Owl Order isn't going to win this one," Marcus Belby says. "But we've learned a lot, and we've given a good fight. I think, however, it's time to join our forces. I hereby join Storm Army." 

With the addition of the Owl Order's points, Storm Army leaps into the front. The former members of the Owl Order come over to gather on our side of the hall. 

"Well, I'm not going to stand for that," Lavender says. "The Fluffy Bunny Legion won't back down in the face of adversity! I hereby join the Fire Guardians!" 

They go over to gather opposite of us as the Fire Guardians' score shoots up to compensate. Now, the Fire Guardians are behind by only a small margin. 

"There's only one way to settle this, you know," I say. 

"Yes," Ginny replies. "All of us against all of you." 

"Ah, open warfare it is, then," Snape drawls, moving out of the way to stand at the side of the room. 

"Let's end this in one final battle," I say. "Winner take all." 

"Winner take all!" Ginny agrees. 

" _Protego!_ " I cast, a shimmering shield appearing in front of me. And so the battle begins. 

Spells fly wildly about the room. I've been drilling Storm Army in Shield Charms, so many of us can cast it by now, limiting our casualties a bit. But the Fire Guardians haven't been slacking either. 

Combatants fall one by one to Stunning Spells. Some of those hit with Disarming Charms decide to surrender and stand off with Snape to wait out the battle, but others refuse to give up and keep fighting, grabbing the wands of the fallen, scrambling for their own wands, or physically attacking their opponents. 

In the end, there's only three on each side left standing to face off against one another. For Storm Army, there's me, Draco, and Neville. Our enemies are Ginny, Ron, and Lavender. 

"So, it comes down to us," Ron says. "But the cause of right will win out in the end!" 

"For truth and justice!" Ginny exclaims. 

"For Binky!" Lavender cries. 

I don't bother replying to their taunts or shouting any battlecries. I keep my shield up and have spells prepared. I block their attacks easily, and get past their shields by freezing the floor beneath their feet, causing them to slip and fall. 

Ron and Lavender are stunned, and Ginny lays sprawling on the floor, having lost her wand. It would seem that we have won. But that's not good enough for me. I hold up my hand to Draco and Neville, and go over to pick up Ginny's wand. 

"Not everything is black and white," I say, handing back her wand. "And the line between good and evil isn't always easy to see. Our friends have fought well, but we always knew it would come down to us. Why don't we end this in an honorable duel, one on one?" 

"Agreed," Ginny says, taking her wand back. 

After all of the students are Rennervated, Ginny and I face off against one another on the stage. She's good, I can certainly appreciate that. She fits like a vixen, a spitfire, a kitten from hell. It wouldn't do to underestimate her. I'm not ashamed to lose to a second year girl. 

" _Flipendo! Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy!_ " I open up with a string of spells. 

" _Protego!_ " Ginny casts, my attacks dissipating against her shield. I'm impressed, she can cast a pretty good Shield Charm. Did Moony teach that to the second years too, or did she learn it from Ron, or even pick it up on her own? 

Ginny fights fiercely, and she's quicker than me, too. And then, she nails me with one lucky curse, and I'm out. 

" _Rennervate_ ," Snape casts, and I climb to my feet again. "And the winner of this duel is Ginny Weasley." 

I bow deeply to Ginny. "Well done." 

"You... fought well too," Ginny says a little sheepishly. 

In the end, Snape decides to award the trophy of Intermediate Dueling Club Champion to Ginny Weasley, but the trophy for the group combat to Storm Army. I can live with that. 

"Hah!" Ron says. "You're not so great after all, are you, Stormseeker?" 

"Oh, go soak your head, Weasel," Draco says. 

* * *

Once again, Slytherin has won the House Cup. I cheerfully go over to celebrate with them. After all, I contributed to their victory as well, by losing points at every opportunity. I'm starting to think that Gryffindor really hates me now. No, wait, I knew they really hated me years ago. 

"So, Flint, did you actually manage to do better on your NEWTs this time?" Gemma asks. 

"Naturally!" Flint replies. "And I've even managed to grow a beard! Do I look dignified yet?" 

"You look like a werewolf," Gemma says. She grins at him crookedly, and then goes to kiss him anyway. 

I laugh aloud, and applaud. 

"So, when's the wedding?" Draco asks with a smirk. 

With everything else out of the way, we go outside to relax in the sun on the final day before leaving Hogwarts for the summer. It's a beautiful summer day, without a cloud in the sky. We've even dared to bring Padfoot out of the dorm to play around in the grass by the lake for a bit. 

And then it gets dark, like storm clouds suddenly came out of nowhere and covered the sun, and a chill wind blows past. 

"Who put out the sun?" Draco wonders, peering up at the sky. 

"Shit," I murmur. "Dementors!" I put my right hand on Padfoot's back and pull out my wand in my left. 

There's a lot of them, a black cloud of abominations with fluttering capes, bringing with them a horrible sense of dread and despair. Sirius could cast his Patronus, maybe, but someone might see him, and I'm not sure if it would be strong enough to ward them all off. My friends are in danger. Everyone here is in danger. They're frozen in terror, rooted to the spot and unable to move. 

I've had enough of this. These horrible, soul-sucking monstrosities have threatened me and my friends for long enough. I steel myself against them and hold my ground. What makes my life more important than that of my friends? Just because they aren't time travelers doesn't mean that they deserve to lose their souls, too! 

I think of the taste of pancakes. The hope to save people and make a better future. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " I cast. A shimmering silvery shield surrounds my friends and holds off the Dementors for the moment. 

That's not enough. That's not a good enough memory. No, I think I know what memory I need to use. I bring to mind the sun rising above the castle after a long, terrible night. The rainbow in the sky over the Black Lake after the storm. Through shadows and storms we will perservere, and emerge only stronger for it. All things will pass in time. No strife will last forever. The storm will bring a rainbow, in the end. 

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ " I scream. 

A shimmering, silvery winged creature bursts from the end of my wand and flies fiercely toward the storm of Dementors. A bird made of moonlight, viciously attacking the monsters and driving them off. It's a beautiful, glorious sight. The Dementors back away, and finally scatter upon the winds like black leaves. 

"That was awesome," Neville says. 

"Stormseeker," Draco says. "Not to complain or anything, but... your Patronus is a duck." 

I laugh softly and take a closer look at the fierce bird that's standing before us, glaring around to make sure no more Dementors come close. "So it is," I say with a grin. 

Padfoot barks happily and wags his tail, panting enthusiastically, as if to congratulate me on finally casting the spell. Four years. It took me four years to succeed at that. But I never really gave up. And it paid off in the end. 

Moony and McGonagall are approaching us quickly. "We saw the Dementors," McGonagall says. "Are you students alright?" She peers at the duck. "Whose Patronus is that?" 

"Harry's," Neville says. 

I beam brightly at Moony and go over to hug him. "I got it, Moony," I say. "I finally did it!" 

"Well done, Harry," Moony says. "Well done indeed." 

I think... everything is going to be alright.


	62. Snakes in the Dark

"Couldn't we have found a _male_ Squib child to do this with instead?" Sirius moans, looking down at his body, which now looks like an eleven year old girl. 

"Take what you can get," I say. "She was quite happy to part with a little bit of hair in exchange for a few galleons. Let's go, we don't want the Polyjuice to wear off while we're in Diagon Alley." 

"Don't worry, I've brought enough to last several hours, just in case," Sirius says. 

Grimmauld Place isn't connected to the Floo network for obvious security reasons, so I wind up Side-Along Apparating with Moony to get to Diagon Alley. Just like my first time going to the Nexus. I really need to learn how to Apparate myself sometime. 

Wasting no time, we head straight for Ollivander's. "Ah, good day," Ollivander says. "Another one for Hogwarts? Hmm..." He peers intently at Sirius, and I have to wonder if he can tell who it is even under the form of a young girl. "And what might your name be, young lady?" 

"I'm Heather Mitchell," Sirius replies. 

"Are you, now?" Ollivander says, thoughtfully, then shakes his head. "No, I don't believe so. Welcome back to my shop, Sirius Black." 

Sirius stares at him. "How...?" 

I smirk. "I told you we wouldn't fool him." 

"I'm assuming they snapped your wand when they took you to Azkaban?" Ollivander asks. "Such a waste. Well, come on, let's find you another one." 

"Wait, you're not going to turn me in?" Sirius wonders. 

"He didn't actually do it, you know," Moony says quickly. 

"I'm only interested in crafting wands and providing wizards with ones to match them," Ollivander says. "What they do with them afterward once they leave my shop is not my business. And you do not seem to be here to do unpleasant things to me, but rather to engage in business. I see no reason to deny you that." 

He brings Sirius a number of wands to try out one by one. Finally, a good match is made with a wand of spruce and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches long. 

"Ah, spruce, an interesting choice," Ollivander muses. "A flamboyant sort of wood well-suited to a wizard who is bold and has a good sense of humor." 

Both Moony and I snicker softly at that description. Sirius glares aside at us and counts out the galleons for it. Spruce and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches. I'll remember that, like I remembered Neville's. Wait, what was Neville's again? Crap. 

"Out of curiosity, when did you make that wand?" I ask. 

"1983, I believe," Ollivander replies. "I hope your new wand serves you well, Heather Mitchell. Good luck at Hogwarts." 

Sirius looks at him in puzzlement for a moment, and then just says, "Thank you, sir." 

On the way out of Diagon Alley, I spot in the crowd what I think is a purple turban. My heart jumps in alarm. It couldn't be. But who else would have that horrible of fashion sense? 

"Something wrong, Harry?" Moony asks. 

I shake my head. "Just thought I saw a ghost, of the not-dead variety." 

I quickly move to follow after where I saw the turban moving. I get another glimpse of him as the crowd opens up. It looks like he's heading into Knockturn Alley. 

"Harry, where are you going?" Moony asks. "You shouldn't go in there--" 

I ignore him and rush after the turban. I dart through the narrow, twisting passageways, trying to keep sight of the purple turban in the darkened alleyways. I think I've lost Moony and Sirius somewhere along the way, as I don't hear them behind me anymore. 

A rickety building at the end of a cul-de-sac -- I think he went in here. I try to peer in through the windows, but the curtains block the view. The door is ajar, however, so I try to poke my head inside. I wish I had the invisibility cloak, but Sirius still has it. Just as well, since he usually needs it more. 

The shop is bigger on the inside than it appears, and I have to creep further inside to get a closer look or hope to eavesdrop. The shelves bear what seem to be potion ingredients, but I don't recognize what most of them might be. 

"... and I'll require some of this as well," I hear Quirrell's voice saying. 

Yes, it's definitely Quirrell. What's he doing here? I thought he was still in Azkaban! I peer around a shelf and get a good look at him. No doubt about it. He looks somewhat worse for wear, like he's aged twenty years in the last two, but there's no mistaking his identity. As I'm trying to get a closer look, my elbow catches on a silver bowl full of bright red snail shells and clatters to the floor. 

Quirrell snaps his head over toward me and gives a wave of his wand in my direction. Ropes spring out of nowhere and bind me tightly in place. " _You_ ," Quirrell hisses. "Are you spying on me now, boy, after you betrayed me? I have no idea how you found out about that, but after all the trouble I went to for you, I am _not_ pleased with you." 

"What makes you think it was me?" I ask. 

I feel something poke against my Occlumency barriers. It's good to know that those are still strong as ever. "Who else could have found out about it?" Quirrell says. 

"Don't blame me for your carelessness," I say. I can't get my wand out to defend myself with these ropes, much as I try to wriggle. The knife Sirius gave me for Christmas is in my bag. Maybe I can get that out. I doubt it, though. 

"I was _not_ careless, you fool boy," Quirrell growls. 

"Whatever," I say. "So how did you get out of Azkaban, then?" 

"Served my sentence," Quirrell says. "They released me. Two years, idiot boy. Two years was all they gave me. Do you think that would really be more than a mere setback?" 

Note to self: If I ever want someone permanently gone, I should just kill them myself rather than relying on prison terms for petty crimes. Quirrell seems to have entirely forgotten that the shopkeeper is even there, who likewise is quietly standing by and not caring to annoy this obviously crazy, violent man. 

"Nonetheless, you have my sympathy," I say. "No one deserves to be locked up in that place." 

Quirrell snorts softly. "I don't need your misplaced sympathy, boy. _Crucio!_ " 

Red-hot pain shoots through my body, worse than any death I've ever encountered. I'm screaming, my body spasming in agony. With pain like this, I must be going to die soon. Then it will be over. There's no way I could survive something like this. 

And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain stops. I pant softly, staring at Quirrell through hazy vision, hanging limply from the magical ropes binding me to the shelf. He grins back at me with a wicked expression. 

"So, did you enjoy that?" Quirrell says, chuckling darkly. 

I glance down at myself, expecting to see blood pouring out of my body from a thousand cuts, but there's not a mark on me, despite how much it aches. "Why don't you just kill me already and get it over with, if that's what you're going to do?" 

"So eager to die, are you?" Quirrell says. "But that would be wasteful. I have other plans for you. Now, the question is, whether you are going to submit to them willingly or not." 

I really should not have run off on my own. The worst thing that could happen here is that I _don't_ die. "You're giving me a choice?" I say. 

"Of course," Quirrell says, chuckling again. "I feel fortunate that you sought me out. Now, you can tell me what preparations I will need to make. Be assured, however, that your willing cooperation will be richly compensated." 

"With what?" I ask reflexively, out of morbid curiosity. Damn it, I really don't actually plan on going along with this, do I? 

"Your life, for one thing," Quirrell says. "A place at my side. Status. Power. Knowledge." 

Tempting. But I'm not one to bow to mere temptation. I know that some of my friends would go along with this gladly, but others would find the prospect utterly appalling. I remember Neville's worst fear, being me as a Dark Lord... 

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It's not worth it." 

"A pity," Quirrell says. "Then I'll just have to force it. _Imperio_." 

A wonderful sensation floats through my mind, and my new master releases me from my bonds. Just then, I hear footsteps. Moony storms into the shop, wand in hand, with a black dog at his heels. 

"Harry!" Moony cries. "Are you alright?" 

_Kill him_ , says a voice in my head. I want nothing more than to make my master happy. I whip out my wand. 

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cast. A crack of blue lightning shoots from the tip of my wand and strikes Moony. " _Expelliarmus! Impedimenta!_ " 

"Harry, what are you doing?" Moony demands as his wand goes flying and he's stopped firmly in place. 

Padfoot leaps onto my chest, snarling. My wand gets knocked out of my hand and dangles from its wrist chain. A wave of Quirrell's wand from above me, and the dog goes flying across the room, swatted away like an insect. 

I get to my feet and, with a flick of my wrist, my wand is in my hand again. " _Fulgoris!_ " I cast at Moony until he collapses. I'm ecstatic to be able to fulfill my master's wishes. 

"Who was that?" Quirrell asks me. 

"Remus Lupin," I reply. 

Padfoot darts around the shelves and attacks Quirrell this time, leaping at the purple turban with fangs bared. Again, he's swatted away. 

_Kill the dog, too_ , commands the voice of my master in my mind. 

That's Sirius. The dog, whimpering painfully in the corner of the room where he fell. I would never hurt Sirius. But my master wishes it. No, damn it. I'm under the Imperius Curse. My mind has been enslaved. I find myself raising my wand without even really thinking about it, eager to acceed to my master's desires. 

No. NO, I will not kill Sirius! Shuddering involuntarily, I shake off the spell. I look over in horror toward Moony's body. Abyss, did I kill him? Is he dead? _Fuck_. 

I turn toward Quirrell in a rage. He enslaved me with magic. He forced me to kill my friend. Anger and hate seethe in my blood. I pour every ounce of power and emotion into my wand, and scream, " _FULGORIS!_ " 

CRACK-A-DOOM! A flash of blinding lightning fills my vision and rips through my body. But the pain is gone in an instant, and I'm dead. 

* * *

I wake in my room in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. I'm magically drained and tired from the force of that spell, but otherwise alright. Damn. I hadn't actually intended to kill myself there, but I was so, so very angry. I just hope I took Quirrell out with me. 

I rub my eyes and head downstairs. At breakfast with Moony and Sirius, I say, "Quirrell was released from Azkaban." 

"Who?" Sirius asks. 

"Defense teacher, first year," I say. "The one who was possessed by the Dark Lord." 

"That's not good," Moony says. 

"How did you find out about this?" Sirius asks, then his face dawns in realization. "He didn't kill you, did he?" 

I shake my head. "Technically, I killed myself. Though not intentionally. I was really angry at him and overcharged my Lightning Curse a bit much." 

"What happened?" Moony asks. 

"Imperius Curse," I say quietly. "He made me kill you. I'm sorry." 

"There's nothing to apologize for, Harry," Moony says gently. "Greater wizards than you have been unable to withstand that curse." 

"So should we cancel today's trip, then?" Sirius asks. "Maybe schedule it for another day?" 

"Spruce and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches," I say. "We could just pick it up real quick and be out of there in a moment." 

"I think it would be best if the two of you stayed here," Moony says. "I'll go to Diagon Alley myself." 

"Fine," Sirius says. "I didn't really want to be an eleven year old girl, anyway." 

"Hey, if you got enough Polyjuice Potion, you could attend Hogwarts again!" I say with a snicker. 

"Ugh," Sirius says. "As a first year girl? No thanks. I'd rather come along as your dog again." 

"What, missing the Slytherins already?" I say. 

"They're kind of growing on me," Sirius says. "Like a fungus, but hey." 

"I'll go pick up that wand," Moony says, standing up and shaking his head in amusement. 

* * *

"Hmm, what's this?" Sirius says, looking through the mail one morning. "Looks like Fudge sent us tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Guess he's not so useless after all. Top box, even! Great seats!" 

Sure enough, there's three tickets, along with a friendly note suggesting that I bring my friends. I've remained on good terms with Fudge, giving him my support whenever desired. A small price to pay to keep Moony out of any potential trouble, I think. 

Sirius absently picks up the _Daily Prophet_ to read through it. "So, who are you going to bring?" he asks. "Besides me, of course. Dogs get in free, I'm sure." 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I say. "There's going to be a lot of wizards there. What if one of them realizes you're an Animagus?" 

Sirius shakes his head. "Relax. Nobody knows my Animagus form, and most people aren't going to be able to tell an Animagus from a normal animal unless they're specifically testing them." 

"Well, alright then." I say. "Draco probably already begged his father for tickets the minute he heard it was happening." At least I'd hope so, given the somewhat frosty relationship they have at the moment. Draco opted to spend more of this holiday with his family. I hope that's working out for him. "Moony, are you interested?" 

"I was never as big a Quidditch fan as Sirius or James," Moony says. "But I certainly wouldn't say no, and you're going to want to have an adult along anyway. Still, I don't know that Fudge would be happy to have a werewolf with him in the top box..." 

"If he didn't want you there, he shouldn't have given me the tickets," I say. "And it's not like it takes place on a full moon anyway." 

"Very well," Moony says. 

I write a note to Draco asking him if he's got tickets to the World Cup, and send it along with Solomon. A bit later, the owl returns with Draco's reply in the affirmative, so I write a letter to Blaise instead. 

The next morning, Blaise's reply is waiting for me at breakfast, along with a purple box. "You got prime seats for the Quidditch World Cup?" he writes. "Excellent! Count me in. Also, I sent along another box of your favorite candy." 

"You know, I still don't like you taking those things," Sirius comments, glaring at the box of Dream Sweets. 

"I know," I say, grabbing it and shoving it in my bag of holding. "Indulge me, alright?" 

"What happens if your supply runs out, though?" Sirius says. "Can you really trust Blaise that much?" 

"You've spent most of the last term with him," I point out. "You tell me." 

"He didn't seem too bad, for a Slytherin," Sirius says. "But what if he's just manipulating you to gain your favor, and make sure you'll do whatever he wants?" 

"What if?" I say. "I'm _expecting_ that, Sirius." 

Sirius stares at me. "Then why are you taking them?" 

"Because I don't think he's crazy enough to ask me to do anything too reprehensible," I say. "And the benefits are totally worth it." 

Sirius sighs. "Fine. And if he ever does turn on you... I suppose we can look for another source to keep you going, then, much as I hate it..." 

* * *

Moony, Blaise, Padfoot, and I arrive at the site of the Quidditch World Cup by portkey. I'm not all that thrilled about Quidditch myself, but it promises to be quite an event, and it would be rude to refuse Fudge's invitation. The social aspects will be fun, at least. It's a few days after the full moon, and Moony and I have recovered from it by this point. 

"We're going to be camping!" I say excitedly. "Where's our spot?" 

"Over that way, it looks like," Moony comments absently. 

We head across the moor, and soon come to a small stone cottage. There's a man standing in the doorway, dressed strangely. 

"Would you look at that?" Blaise murmurs. "A Muggle! What's he doing here, I wonder?" 

"He's the campground manager," Moony replies, going up to the Muggle man. "Mr. Roberts, I presume?" 

"That would be me," Mr. Roberts says. "And who might you be?" 

"I've got a reservation for a spot, booked under the name of Potter I believe," Moony says. 

"Right, of course," Mr. Roberts says. "Your spot's up by the woods over there. Only staying one night?" 

Moony nods. "That's right." 

"You'll be paying now?" Mr. Roberts asks. 

"Certainly," Moony says, pulling out some strange bits of paper with markings on them, counting them out, and passing them over to the Muggle. 

"Thank you kindly," says Mr. Roberts. "I've never seen the place this crowded before. Is there some sort of event going on?" 

"Something like that," Moony says vaguely. 

We make our way to our spot and get the tent set up. It looks like an ordinary Muggle tent on the outside, but it's actually a magical tent with four bedrooms, a parlor, and a full-size kitchen. I hope Moony or Sirius knows how to cook, though, seeing as we didn't bring Kreacher along, and I know perfectly well that Blaise certainly doesn't. 

"Is this really camping if we're bringing along a small house?" I wonder. 

"Would you prefer we did this like Muggles?" Blaise asks. 

"How do Muggles do it?" I ask. 

"They'd have a campfire to roast their food over," Moony says. "And they'd sleep in bedrolls." 

"How primitive," I say. 

"Indeed," Blaise agrees. 

"And they do this for _fun_ and not because they have to?" I wonder. 

"Yes," Moony says. 

"Muggles are _weird_ ," I say. 

"Well, look over there," Blaise says, pointing off at another lot. "Looks like the Weasleys are here, trying to do it the Muggle way. Damned blood traitors." Padfoot lowers his ears and makes a soft growling sound at Blaise. 

"We're next to the Weasleys?" I say, sighing. "Great." 

There's a lot of things to see, and a lot of people to meet and talk to, so we head off to do that. We pass a group of wizards who are wearing what must be Muggle clothing. One has a brightly colored robe with frills and floral prints, one with short trousers, another with a plaid skirt... 

"Not one of them would actually pass for a Muggle," Moony says quietly. Thankfully, _he_ was in charge of picking out our Muggle attire. Neither Blaise or I would know the difference, certainly. 

We pass by a fellow named Crouch, who seems to be going on about some dry legal crap that I can't be bothered to pay attention to. We also run into one Ludo Bagman, who seems to be trying to goad everyone into making bets. 

"Would any of you fellows care to place a bet on the match?" Ludo asks. 

"No thank you," Moony says. 

"I don't gamble," I reply. 

"I will," Blaise says, pulling a coin out of his pocket. "How about a galleon on Viktor Krum to get the Snitch?" 

"Who's Viktor Krum?" I ask. 

Everyone in earshot looks at me as if scandalized. Including Moony. Including Padfoot, and how a dog manages to look scandalized, I'm not sure. 

"You came to the Quidditch World Cup, and you don't even know who's playing?" Ludo asks me in bewilderment. 

"Pretty much, yeah," I reply. "I don't know any of them, so does it really matter? It makes little difference to me who wins or loses." 

"Ah, where's your sense of national pride?" Ludo says. "I'd expect you to be supporting Ireland." 

"I was raised in America," I say. 

"Or do you prefer Bulgaria?" Ludo goes on. "Rumor has it that you're secretly a dark wizard, perhaps you're a fan of Durmstrang then?" 

"It's hardly a secret if everyone knows about it, is it?" I say, rolling my eyes. "What's Durmstrang?" 

"A school over in eastern Europe," Blaise says. "They're more supportive of the Dark Arts there, or so I've heard." 

"I see," I say. Maybe, in some other lifetime, I should attend there and see what it's like. 

Blaise buys a pair of Omnioculars from a witch vendor, but I pass on it. I won't be able to follow the match anyway, so why bother? I do, however, buy a set for Moony. I'm sure Sirius might like to replay the match with them later. 

When the time approaches for the match to start, we head up for the stadium, and straight up to the top box. 

"There you are, Stormseeker, Blaise," Draco says. "Great view from up here, isn't it?" 

"Yeah," Blaise agrees. 

Fudge is also present, making a show of ignoring the fact that Moony even exists, which is probably just as well. There's a female house-elf who is apparently saving a seat for Crouch. There's also several Bulgarians, who don't seem to be able to speak a word of English. 

"So how's your summer been, Draco?" I ask. 

Draco lowers his voice and says, "I wish I were spending it with you instead." 

"Ah, what a nice dog," Fudge says. "Should I have sent a ticket for your canine best friend as well, my dear Harry? I daresay it's big enough to take up a seat and a half!" He chuckles. 

"Grim loves to watch the players zip around on their brooms," I say. "You'd think he actually knows what's going on." I grin, and pat Padfoot on the back, who lolls his tongue out and wags his tail. 

I let Padfoot sit on my lap, and we relax and watch the game. I can't see it very well around the big dog, but that's alright. He's enjoying it, and all I can see are people on brooms flying this way and that. In the end, Ireland wins, but Krum caught the Snitch. 

"I kind of feel sorry for Krum," Draco says. "Great Seeker, but he's the one really carrying their matches. The rest of the team seems pretty mediocre." 

"If I meet him, I'll be sure to put on my 'pretending to care about Quidditch' routine," I say quietly. 

Draco snickers softly. Padfoot seems to be laughing in a canine sort of way. "Did you see that Wronski feint he pulled off?" Draco says. "That was awesome." 

"No kidding," Blaise agrees. "And did you see Bulgaria's mascots? Mmm, veela..." 

"Ah, puberty," Moony mutters. 

We head out of the stadium and back toward our tent. Well, this was a nicely pleasant and uneventful outing. I'm sure Sirius enjoyed getting out of the house for a bit. He might be something of a prisoner in his own home at times, but at least there's no Dementors, and the painting of his mother doesn't even scream at us. I head into my comfortable room in the magic tent, pop a Dream Sweet, and go to sleep. 

* * *

"Harry!" says Moony's voice. "Wake up, this is urgent!" 

I grumble and roll out of bed reluctantly. I don't like having my dreams interrupted. I'll need to take another Dream Sweet if I actually wake up and want to go back to sleep again later. But if it's really an emergency, I suppose I'd better. 

"What's going on?" I say drowsily. 

"Trouble!" Moony says. "Come outside, quickly!" 

I run out of the tent, followed closely by Blaise, with Padfoot at our heels. There are people running, screaming, drunken laughter. Then in the distance, I spot a flash of green light. There's a group of wizards moving across the field. They seem to be wearing masks. 

"Oh crap," Blaise murmurs. 

In the air above them, there are four figures levitating, writhing in torment. It looks like that Muggle that greeted us yesterday, along with his wife and children. The masked wizards are blasting at the tents, setting some of them on fire, causing others to collapse. 

Damn it, I can't just stand by and watch this. I whip out my wand in an instant and rush toward the group of masked wizards. " _Fulgoris!_ " I cast into the crowd. 

"Who's this casting curses at us?" asks one of them. 

"Why, if it isn't Harry Potter!" says another. 

"Stop this right now!" I demand. 

"Is he really threatening us?" says one. 

"What, does the little dark wizard care about Muggles?" asks one. 

"There's no point in tormenting them like that," I say. "There's no honor or glory in this. This is beneath you! And you're attacking other wizards, too! Why are you doing this?" 

"Why not?" asks one. 

"Harry, _run_ ," Moony says urgently, coming up alongside me. 

"No way," I say. " _Fulgoris!_ " Lightning shoots at the masked wizards again. 

"Oh, that simply won't do," says one. "You've bitten off more than you can chew, little boy." 

Before I know it, they're peppering me with curses. I quickly try to put up a Shield Charm, too late. My head grows fuzzy and my body gets weak, and I collapse. 

* * *

"Harry!" I wake to Moony's voice again. "Come on, it's an emergency!" 

"Coming," I grumble, heading outside without another question. This is one battle that I can't fight myself, it seems. 

Outside, the masked wizards are levitating the Muggles around and tormenting them, just as before. I sigh and restrain myself from going after them, much as I would like to. 

"I'm going to go help the Ministry wizards," Moony says. "You boys, take cover in the woods. Padfoot, watch over them." 

"Be careful, Moony," I say. 

Padfoot barks in acknowledgment, and we part ways. Blaise and I run into the forest. It's awfully dark, and I hesitate to make a light that would give us away. Ultimately, however, I decide that anyone that's looking for us won't be stopped by the lack of light. I whip out my wand and cast, " _Lumos_." 

Up ahead, we run across Draco Malfoy, leaning against a tree, and looking very conflicted. He looks pretty relieved when he sees us. "There you are," he says. "I was hoping you hadn't wound up caught up in that mess." 

"What's going on, Draco?" I ask. 

"Death Eaters," Draco says quietly. "My father..." He glances around shiftily, as if to make sure nobody else is in earshot, and then whispers, "He's with them." 

I groan softly. "And they think tormenting Muggles is just great sport, I suppose. I'm glad I didn't bring Hermione along." 

A terrified house-elf rushes past us. I think that was Crouch's one. 

"What are we going to do?" Draco asks, looking worriedly to me. 

"What _can_ we do?" I ask. "I'm not going over there to try to convince them to stop. Let's just stay put and wait it out, and hope Moony can handle himself." 

And then, after a short while, a horrible voice nearby says, " _MORSMORDRE!_ " I spin around, trying to shine my wand into the direction it came from, but I can't make out anything specific. And something glittering green shoots into the sky, and hangs there like an emerald constellation in the shape of a snake and skull. 

"The Dark Mark..." Blaise whispers. 

"The Dark Lord's sign," Draco adds quietly. "Why did they have to go and do that, whichever of them that was?" 

About twenty wizards proceed to pop into the clearing around us, all of them with their wands pointed at us. " _Protego!_ " I cast in an instant, and my friends quickly follow suit. 

Just in time, as they all cast, " _STUPEFY!_ " Blinding flashes clatter against my shield, which barely manages to hold them off, and collapses at the end of the volley. 

"Stop," Moony says. "That's Harry Potter." 

"I knew it," Arthur Weasley says. "I _knew_ he was a future Dark Lord." 

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Moony says. 

Another wizard, I think it was Crouch from earlier, pushes forward. "Which one of you did it? Who cast the Dark Mark?" 

"It wasn't us," Draco says quickly. 

"Don't lie to me!" Crouch says, pointing his wand straight at us. "You're at the scene of the crime!" 

"Look, if I were to cast a magic symbol in the sky, it would be of a cloud with a lightning bolt," I say. "This skull and snake thing is so not me at all." 

"Harry..." Moony says. 

"If you didn't cast it, then who did?" Crouch asks. "Where did it come from?" 

"That way, I think," I say, pointing my wand off in the direction I heard the voice. 

The wizards search the area, and uncover and unconcious house-elf, the one who was running around in a panic earlier, and she appears to have a wand. 

"That's my wand!" Blaise says. "I didn't even realize I'd lost it..." 

"Careless, Blaise," I say. 

"That's my house-elf!" Crouch says indignantly. 

Someone Rennervates the house-elf, and they proceed to interrogate the poor terrified thing, and confirm that it was, indeed, Blaise's wand that cast the Dark Mark. 

"There's no way that the house-elf cast it," I say. "Not unless she's good with voices or something." 

"Could I have my wand back now, please?" Blaise asks. 

There's a veritable chaos of questions and accusations flying, but eventually, Blaise gets his wand back and the wizards seem to agree that we didn't do anything. The poor house-elf, Winky, on the other hand, ends up getting sacked by Crouch, and bawling in despair. 

"She's done nothing wrong," I say. "Can't you see how terrified she is? Look, if you don't want her, I'll take her." 

Several people all look at me at once as though I've just said something insane. 

"And I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you, 'Stormseeker'?" says one wizard I don't recognize. "You probably arranged all of this yourself!" 

"You have got to be kidding me," I say. "I prefer my chaos to be a little more organized. This was just a stupid and pointless mess." 

"Look at him, complaining about how it was done and not what was done," Crouch says. 

"I think the boys have been through enough for one night, Mr. Crouch," Moony says. "If you would, I'd like to take them home now." 

"And running with werewolves doesn't exactly help their case much either," Crouch adds. 

"Forget about it," I say, shaking my head. "I just want to go back to bed." 

After finally disentangling ourselves from the group of wizards, we return to our tent, Draco coming along with us. "Do you mind if I stay with you guys tonight?" he asks sheepishly. 

"Come on in," I say. "We have room for you." 

"Thanks," Draco says. "I just don't want to... you know... with my father and all..." 

"What in the Abyss was he thinking?" I mutter, shaking my head. 

"It's stupid," Draco says. "The Dark Lord is gone, and he doesn't even know about the truth about Quirrell in first year." 

"Oh, Merlin," I say. "I forgot to tell you. Quirrell's out of Azkaban. I saw him in Knockturn Alley last week." 

Draco and Blaise both pale and exchange looks. "Combined with this incident, that's not good," Blaise says. "Not good at all." 

"You don't suppose he's been in contact with them, has he?" I ask. 

"Not that I heard of," Draco says, sighing. "I wish I knew what was really going on here." 

It's tough to see Draco shaken like this. I put my hand on his shoulder reassuringly and say, "Let's just try to get some sleep." 

"Yeah," Draco says. "Yeah. Good idea."


	63. Weasels and Dogs

Following the Quidditch World Cup incident, the _Daily Prophet_ is awash with wild rumors and flagrant accusations, primarily penned by one Rita Skeeter, apparently. 

"She makes it sound like you're the second coming of the Dark Lord," Sirius mutters. "Vile woman." 

"Eh, she's not saying anything I haven't seen before," I say. 

"Does it even bother you what people think of you?" Sirius asks. 

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" I say. "Why, yes, I _am_ a dark wizard intent upon taking over the world, but I'm not evil, really." 

Sirius gives me an odd look, and then snickers. "I think you're the only dark wizard in the world who I'd actually believe isn't evil, Stormseeker." 

"Still, I wish she wouldn't try to _start_ rumors like this," I say. "Nobody was hurt, but she mentions vague comments about bodies being removed from the woods?" 

"Personally, if I were you, I'd try to stay out of the paper," Sirius says. "You're not a wanted fugitive, and you don't want to be, trust me." 

"I don't exactly try to get in the paper, but it just kind of happens sometimes," I say. 

Sirius chuckles. "You don't exactly keep a low profile on the best of days, though." 

* * *

"You sure you'll be alright by yourself?" I ask Moony as on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. 

Padfoot barks excitedly and hops around wagging his tail, looking up at Moony. 

"I'll be fine," Moony says. "Don't you worry about me." 

"I'll be sure to write," I say. 

"Professor Lupin!" says Hermione, approaching us. "Are you coming back to teach us another year?" 

"I'm afraid not, Hermione," Moony says. "And I'm not your professor anymore. You can just call me Remus, please." 

"I wonder who we're actually having," Neville says. 

"I hope it's someone competent," I say. "And if they're evil, to be a competent sort of evil that's willing to teach properly and have the good grace to finish out the year before committing their evil schemes." 

"Harry..." Moony says. 

"I'd personally hope them not to be evil at all," Hermione says. "But maybe that's a bit much to ask for." 

We climb onto the train, and I take a compartment with Draco, Blaise, Hermione, and of course, Padfoot. The dog hops around excitedly and pokes his head out of the window, tongue lolling about. 

"How long have you been waiting for a chance to do that?" I say with a smirk, scratching Padfoot behind the ears. The dog just barks happily. 

"You'd better stay close to me, Hermione," Draco says. "I'll protect you from any nasty Death Eaters that might show up." 

"I'd _hope_ Death Eaters don't attack the Hogwarts Express," Blaise says. 

"Death Eaters?" Hermione says, raising an eyebrow. "Did something happen?" 

"You didn't see what happened at the Quidditch World Cup in the _Daily Prophet_?" Draco asks. 

"Probably just as well, if not," I say. "Rita Skeeter exaggerated things a little anyway." 

"What happened?" Hermione asks worriedly. 

"Death Eaters were having a little fun," Blaise says. "Tormenting Muggles and setting tents on fire." 

"Was... was your father there, Draco?" Hermione asks quietly. 

"I'd rather not talk about it," Draco replies. "In happier news, have you guys heard what's coming up this year?" 

"I have not," I say. 

"They're bringing back the Triwizard Tournament," Draco says. "Sadly, they're only going to be letting students who are of age enter it. I wonder if you'll be able to get around that little detail, Stormseeker." 

"I'm not of age, no matter what measurement you use," I say. 

"The Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione repeats. "Oh, I read about that. It was supposed to be really dangerous. People died!" 

Padfoot is looking at me plaintively with big, liquid eyes. 

I grin at him. "Yeah, I think I have quite enough attention as it is. But perhaps I _will_ try to enter." 

Padfoot whimpers at me pathetically, putting his head in my lap. 

"Don't go giving me those eyes, Padfoot," I say, smirking at him. "It'll be fun, I'm sure." 

"You can't seriously be thinking of signing up, are you?" Hermione says. 

"Why not?" I say. "It's not like I can actually die, right?" 

"That's not the point!" Hermione admonishes. 

"Well, _I_ think you should go for it if you can," Blaise says. 

"See?" I say. "Blaise agrees with me!" 

Padfoot lets out a dog-like sigh, shaking his head, and turns his attention back to the window. 

We arrive at Hogsmeade Station in due order. There's a lovely storm going on outside, whipping up the lake like a sloshing bowl of punch. 

"Oh, I don't envy the first years, going out on the lake in that," Hermione says. 

We climb into the thestral-drawn carriages and head up to the castle. All of us can see the thestrals now, between witnessing or committing the various deaths that have been occurring the past couple of years. It still just makes me wish that there hadn't been any need for any deaths at all. It's been better than the last lifetime I spent here, at least. But I still can't help but regret many of the things that have happened, and the sight of the thestrals acutely reminds me of that. 

We file into the castle and into the Great Hall. Along the way, McGonagall says, clearly directed at me and my group, "It would be appreciated if you would sit with your own houses, at the very least for the Opening Feast." She frowns disapprovingly at Padfoot. "And do please make certain that your dog behaves, or I will be forced to care about what sort of pets you bring in." 

I chuckle softly and grin at McGonagall. I've been spending so much time with the Slytherins that poor McGonagall must have gotten the impression that I hate what house I wound up in or something. Which I certainly don't, as I know that it suits me perfectly well, it's just a few of the people in it that grate on me. I go over to sit at the Gryffindor table with Neville and Hermione, and Padfoot takes a seat on the bench between Neville and me. 

Ron peers over at the dog, and says, "Oh, look, it's the Stormseeker thinking that the rules don't apply to him again. I don't think dogs the size of horses are on the list of allowed pets!" 

"Neither were rats, Ron," I point out. 

"Scabbers was small, and didn't eat much!" Ron protests. "But I haven't seen him since the middle of last year. I swear, that awful cat of Hermione's must have eaten him! Poor Scabbers." 

I snicker softly. Padfoot sounds like he's making a canine equivalent of laughter as well. 

"I wonder where the new Defense professor is," Hermione says, peering up at the staff table. "I don't see anyone new up there." 

The Sorting Ceremony proceeds, and then the feast, still with no sign of anyone new showing up. Following the feast, Dumbledore stands up to address the crowd. 

"May I have your attention, please?" Dumbledore says. He starts off with the usual notices about banned objects and forbidden areas, and then adds, "I also regret to inform you that Quidditch and Dueling Club have been canceled for this year." 

" _What?_ " I cry. 

"This is because of an event that is being hosted at Hogwarts, that will be taking place throughout the year, and will absorb much of the teachers' time and energy," Dumbledore goes on. "I am certain, however, that you will all enjoy it. It is my pleasure to announce--" 

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall bang open, revealing a weather-beaten man leaning on a staff and covered in a heavy traveling cloak. An ominous crack of lightning silhouettes him in the doorway. He steps forward through the hall and pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his face. 

One look at the strange, magical eye swiveling about, and I immediately recognize who this is, despite only having seen him briefly once before, in another lifetime. 

"It's Mad-Eye Moody!" I say. " _He's_ going to be our Defense teacher this year? Oh, this is going to be awesome." 

"I've heard of him!" Neville says. "I thought he was retired." 

"What happened to his _face_?" Hermione wonders. 

"I'd like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore says. "Professor Moody." 

Although new teachers are usually greeted with applause, the students seem too stunned by Moody's appearance to do more than gape at him. Dumbledore and Hagrid applaud, and I stand up and clap loudly. "Woohoo!" I call out. "Welcome, Moody!" Neville and Hermione quickly join in the applause, and across the hall, former Storm Army members follow my lead. The new professor pauses to stare at me disconcertingly for a minute. 

Once the applause dies down, Dumbledore continues. "As I was just saying, this year Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, which has not been held in over a century. This will prove to be a very exciting year. I'm certain that many of you have not heard of it, so allow me to explain. This was established as a competition between the three largest magical institutes in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion is selected to represent each school, and the champions take part in three events. Unfortunately, the death toll caused the competition to be discontinued." 

"This is a terrible idea," Hermione whispers. 

"So, in the interest in the safety of the participants, we have imposed some necessary precautions and restrictions upon this year's tournament," Dumbledore goes on. "We have agreed to impose age limitations upon the contenders. Only those students who are of age, that is, seventeen years or older, will be permitted to submit their names for consideration." 

The Weasley twins boo aloud at that announcement. 

"In October, the delegations from the other two schools will be arriving, and we will be playing host to them for the better part of the year," Dumbledore says. "I'm sure you will all extend them every courtesy while they are here." 

I think it'll be fun meeting some new people. I ran into a lot of unfamiliar faces at the Quidditch World Cup, but I didn't really have much opportunity to talk to many of them long. 

I head up to my dorm, absently cast a Revulsion Curse over my bed, pop a Dream Sweet in my mouth, and go to sleep, thinking excitedly about classes starting up again and all the things I might learn this year. 

* * *

Classes start up the following day, starting with an exciting period of Herbology involving some nasty substance called bubotuber pus, extracted from what must be the most hideous plants in the multiverse. 

For Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid has brought in some horrible creatures he calls Blast-Ended Skrewts. Rispy comes up to my group and says sympathetically, "I apologize for this lesson. I tried to dissuade him from this, but he would not be swayed." 

"At least they aren't very big," Neville says. 

"They'll get bigger," Rispy says, sighing. "And I fear he'll be spending the _entire year_ on these ridiculous monstrosities." 

"But what's the point to these things?" Draco says. 

"Making Hagrid happy, I suppose," I say, sighing. 

"If I can't find a way to make some convenient accident happen to these creatures, I think I'll be looking for something more productive to do with my time," Rispy says. 

"I thought you were a big advocate for the rights of magical creatures!" Hermione says. "Don't these skrewts have as much a right to live as anything else?" 

"They're artificial, magically bred abominations," Rispy says. "They'd never have been born naturally, and they probably won't survive as it is anyway." 

"I really have to question Hagrid's taste in creatures sometimes," Neville says. "Just once I'd like to see him bring in something that isn't likely to maul people." 

"Like flobberworms?" Draco sneers. 

"Maybe not," Neville says. 

"Well, if he keeps it up, we can always practice Dueling Club in Care of Magical Creatures," I suggest. 

"Rotten of them to cancel Dueling Club _and_ Quidditch," Draco moans. "What's the point in doing that? Only _one_ student is going to be able to compete in the Triwizard Tournament anyway! What are the rest of us going to do?" 

"Eh, let's start our own," I say. "We can practice the spells in our spare time, and without Quidditch and Dueling Club, we've got more spare time." 

"That's a great idea," Hermione says. 

In Arithmancy, we're dealing with magic number squares that hurt my head trying to figure out. Perhaps this wasn't quite what I was looking forward to for the first day of fourth year classes. I'm sure tomorrow will be better, though. 

Down at dinner, I intend to go eat at the Slytherin table as is my usual habit, with my actual friends. 

"How was Arithmancy?" Draco asks. 

"It was good," Hermione says. "But Professor Vector didn't even give us _any_ homework!" 

Ron approaches us. "Hey, Stormseeker. You should have heard what Trelawny was saying about you in Divination today!" 

"Oh?" I say. "How am I going to die this year?" 

"She predicted that you'd be killed by our Defense professor," Ron says. "Which would just figure, considering he's a former Auror, and you're a dark wizard! I hope he does get you!" 

"She's probably right," I say, shrugging. 

Draco confronts Ron with an issue of the _Daily Prophet_. "Hey, Weasel! Did you see your father made the news?" 

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron demands. 

"Hear this," Draco says. "Arnold Weasley, heh, they couldn't even get his name right. Arnold Weasley was involved in an incident with several Muggle law-keepers over a number of rather aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley seems to have rushed to the aid of 'Mad-Eye' Moody, who had retired from the Ministry when he could no longer distinguish between a handshake and attempted murder." 

"Perfectly understandable," I say. "I hate handshakes." 

Everyone in earshot turns to look at me strangely for a moment before Draco continues, "To no one's surprise, Mr. Weasley found, after arriving at Mr. Moody's heavily defended home, that Mr. Moody had raised a false alarm once again. Mr. Weasley had to modify the memories of a number of Muggles before he was able to escape from the policemen, and refused to answer questions about why the Ministry was involved in such an embarrassing scene." 

"Is there a point to this, Malfoy?" Ron asks. 

"Oh, look, here's a picture of your father standing in front of his house," Draco says. "If you can call it such. And look, your mother--" 

"Draco," I interrupt in a warning tone. 

"What?" Draco says, looking at me in confusion. 

"I think 'your mum' jokes are a bit beneath us, aren't they?" I say. 

"Oh, I suppose," Draco says, snickering. 

"What about _your_ mother, Malfoy?" Ron sneers. 

I glance over at Ron, and tell Draco, "Never mind, he's fair game." 

Draco casts me a broad grin. "Hey, Weasley, is this your mother in this picture, or a cow? It's no wonder you can't afford a proper house or clothes, given how much she must eat!" 

Ron starts fuming, clenching his fists furiously. 

"Your mum, Ron," I say. "Your mum is a very sweet woman who is excessively judgmental of people who associate with those she doesn't like. Your mum believed that I was evil already even when I was eleven years old, and turned me away before even giving me a chance. _Your mum_ cost me the friendship of your entire family for no reason other than that I happened to run into the Malfoys first. How do you think that looked to me? I say, your parents are no different from the Malfoys, they just hate different groups. And that's all I have to say on the subject." 

I turn away. Then, I feel something whoosh past my face, and hear someone screaming. I snap my wand up into my hand and spin around, but before I can cast anything, Ron is replaced with a small fuzzy weasel. 

"No you don't, laddie!" says Moody, coming down the stairs. 

There's a heavy silence in the hall, and I stare at the weasel. I have to admit, he's a lot cuter this way. I'm impressed at Moody's transfiguration skills. 

"Did he get you?" Moody asks me. 

"No," I say. "Shouldn't have turned my back on him, I suppose. I hope canceling Dueling Club doesn't make my reflexes rusty..." 

"Constant vigilance!" Moody says. Seamus is about to bend down to pick up the weasel, but Moody snaps, "Leave it!" 

The weasel squeaks in terror and tries to run up the stairs, heading for Gryffindor Tower. 

"Oh, no you don't!" Moody says. He waves his wand, and the weasel bounces into the air, and proceeds to strike the ground repeatedly. "I don't like it when people attack when their opponent's back is turned! Slimy, cowardly thing to do! Never do that again!" 

I'm gaping at the sight. Isn't this a bit much? But I don't dare to say anything. I can admire Moody's skill, but this just seems to me to be bullying. 

"Professor Moody!" says McGonagall's appalled voice as she comes down the stairs. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm teaching," Moody says. 

"What?" McGonagall says. "That's not a student, is it? Moody, I don't know if Dumbledore told you, but we don't use transfiguration as a punishment!" She waves her wand, and the weasel becomes Ron again, sitting terrified on the stairs. 

"He might or might not have mentioned that," Moody says, shrugging. "But I think my method is more effective." 

"We give detentions or take house points, or speak to the offender's head of house!" McGonagall goes on. 

"I'll do that, then," Moody says. "You're his head of house, aren't you?" 

"I am," McGonagall says. "Now, what did Mr. Weasley do to deserve such a thing?" 

"Attacked another student from behind in a most cowardly manner," Moody says. 

"Mr. Weasley, is this true?" McGonagall asks Ron. 

"Yes, ma'am," Ron murmurs sheepishly. 

"Why?" McGonagall asks. 

"He insulted my mother," Ron says. 

"And your mother insulted _me_ ," I add. "I think we're even." 

"Enough," McGonagall says. "You've already been punished more than enough for this, Mr. Weasley. But I must warn you not to do it again. Run along, now." McGonagall continues on her way. 

Moody looks at my wand, and says, "Wand chains, huh? A crutch, they are. Try not to rely on them too much. Best not to get disarmed at all." 

"Yes, sir," I say, putting my wand away. I've been wearing that chain ever since Neville gave it to me. Have I been leaning on it too much? I haven't seen anyone else using them. There must be some reason for that. 

Once Moody is gone, Draco says, "That was completely awesome." 

"Are you kidding?" Hermione says. "It's good that Professor McGonagall arrived when she did. He could have been hurt!" 

"That was terrifying," I agree quietly. 

"You guys are no fun," Draco says. 

"What if _you_ had been transfigured, into a ferret or something?" I ask. "What would you think of that, then?" I shake my head. "There was no point to that other than to torment him." 

Draco looks at the floor. "Yeah, you're probably right," he says reluctantly.


	64. Unforgivable

On Thursday, our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class takes place. The Gryffindor fourth years are all lined up excitedly outside even before the class period starts, waiting for Moody to arrive. 

Once inside, Moody looks us over with our books out, and says, "Put your books away. You won't need them." 

A practical lesson to start off with, then? We're all waiting excitedly to see what Moody has in store for us today. 

"Now, I got a letter from your last professor, Remus Lupin," Moody says. "Says you covered dark creatures and defensive charms, is that right? But you're way behind on curses." 

"We _have_ been covering curses in Dueling Club," Ron says. 

"I'm not talking about petty schoolboy jinxes that can make someone dance or give them a runny nose," Moody says. "But it's good that you haven't been slacking in combat. No, I'm going to show you the real deal here today. The worst of what wizards can do to one another." 

"You can't be serious," Parvati says. "You're going to _show_ us that?" 

"Absolutely," Moody says. "The Ministry would have me teach you countercurses and leave it at that. In fact, you're not even supposed to learn about illegal curses until sixth year, when they think you're ready to deal with them. But dark wizards won't care about that, will they? They're not going to be all polite about it. Dumbledore thinks you lot can handle it. Is his assessment of you misplaced?" 

"Not at all," I assure him. 

Ron snorts softly. "Yeah, Potter just wants to _learn_ illegal dark curses, I bet." 

"Shove it, Weasel," I say. 

Moody's magical eye fixes on me for a few seconds before he continues. "You always need to be alert and watchful. Constant vigilance! You need to know what to look for, and recognize what you see. You need to be prepared!" 

"Yes, sir!" I say. 

"Now, can anyone tell me which curses are the ones most heavily punished by wizarding law?" Moody asks. 

I'm afraid that I'm not too clear on what the legal standing of any particular spell happens to be, aside from the fact that thus far, I haven't actually gotten in serious trouble for anything I've cast. 

"The Imperius Curse?" Ron suggests. 

"Yes, a troublesome one, that one," Moody says. "Now, class, watch closely." He pulls out a jar of spiders and reaches in to bring out one, resting it on the palm of his hand. " _Imperio!_ " 

I shudder involuntarily at the word, even as I watch what he does carefully. I've been put under that curse three times now by the Dark Lord, and was forced to do horrible things while under his power. I don't like anyone controlling me against my will. 

The spider dances around in a humorous manner, doing cartwheels and tap dancing. Everyone in the class is laughing. Everyone except me and Moody, it seems. I'm frowning intently at the spectacle. 

"So, you think that's funny, do you?" Moody says. "At least one of you seems to recognize how serious this spell is, don't you, Potter?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

"You've seen this spell before, have you?" Moody asks. 

"Yes, sir," I say quietly. 

"Where?" Moody presses. 

"I don't want to talk about it here, sir," I murmur. 

"Very well," Moody says, dropping that train of conversation for now. 

My mind whirls as I think how I'm to explain _that_ one. The only one that occurred in a timeline that actually _stuck_ was in the Chamber of Secrets, I think. The one where I refused to kill Draco and fought back. 

"Potter has the right of it," Moody says. "You wouldn't like it if it were done to you, would you? Absolute control. I could make it do anything, even something that would kill itself." 

I look at the floor, remembering how I was forced to attack Snape, to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, to kill Remus... oh Remus... 

"It was quite the mess, years back, when there were a lot of wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," Moody says. "The Ministry had quite the time of it trying to sort out who was being forced to act against their will, and who was committing their crimes by choice. But the Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how. Not everyone can do it, though, as it takes a lot of willpower to do so. Better to not get hit with it at all. _Constant vigilance!_ " 

And yet, even as it's horrifying, that sort of power is strangely fascinating, and I can accept that there may be times when it would be useful. Am I upset more over what was being done, or the fact that it was being done to me? Could _I_ force someone to obey me like that, to violate their free will? Would that not be worse than simply killing them? 

"Now, can anyone else tell me another one?" Moody asks. "Another illegal curse?" 

"The Cruciatus Curse," Neville says quietly. 

Moody looks intently at Neville, and say, "Your name is Longbottom, isn't it?" 

"Yes, sir," Neville says. 

I remember seeing the state Neville's parents were in after being tortured with that curse for an extended period. I also remember thinking I was dying, wishing I were dead, when I was hit with it myself. But I can't give any indication of that one. That didn't happen in this timeline. 

Moody brings out another spider. "Let's make it a bit bigger so you can see properly," he says. " _Engorgio!_ " 

The spider rapidly expands to the size of a tarantula. Ron seems to be more terrified of the spider than the curses themselves. Oh, right, he was scared of spiders, wasn't he. Maybe I should play a prank on him sometime. 

Moody points his wand at the spider, and says, " _Crucio!_ " 

The spider twitches and jerks, its legs spasming uncontrollably in what must be terrible agony. The class isn't laughing this time. Strangely, perhaps, it's Neville and Hermione who are the most calm about it. Neville is watching quietly, with hard eyes and clenched fists, and Hermione is gaping. Lavender and Parvati, on the other hand, are freaking out. Ron still seems to be terrified of the spider itself. And Seamus is just shuddering. 

As Lavender looks about ready to start vomiting, I say, "I think that's enough of that demonstration, Professor." 

Moody removes his wand, but the spider continues to twitch even after the curse is terminated. " _Reducio_ ," Moody says, and the spider returns to the normal size again. He returns it to the jar. 

I put my hand on Neville's shoulder and whisper to him, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine," Neville replies quietly. "Thanks." 

"Pure pain," Moody says. "The perfect torture method. Very popular once as well, among a certain crowd." 

"There's no good use for a spell like that," I say. "No good reason to cast it beyond sheer sadism." 

"Indeed so, Potter," Moody says. "Now, does anyone know any other illegal curses?" 

"The Killing Curse," Hermione says quietly. 

"Yes," Moody says. "The worst of them all." He pulls out the last spider, which frantically tries to escape, to no avail. He places it on the desk, where it tries to scurry away, but he raises his wand and casts, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

There's a flash of green light, and the spider drops dead instantly. Now that, _that_ spell I like. And not just because it's exactly the same shade of green as my eyes. Sheer poetry, death in its purest form. There's a beautiful elegance to a spell like this. 

My heart is racing, and I have to catch myself to keep my expression neutral. I won't be caught grinning at something like this. Especially when, on another level, the thought of these spells sickens me. It's not like I _enjoy_ killing people or anything. Maybe it's just the Ravenclaw in me that can appreciate the technical aspects of the spells and still be disgusted at the application of them. 

"This spell isn't nice or pleasant," Moody says. "There's no countercurse, no way to block it. Only one person has ever been known to survive it, and he's sitting right in front of me." 

I feel a pang of sympathy for poor Harry Potter now. He somehow survives what wizards consider the worst possible curse, only to be killed by horrible chance. It should have been Harry Potter sitting in this classroom today, and not me. I think that Dumbledore had to have known that there was no way I'd ever actually be able to be what Harry Potter would have been. And yet, here I am, regardless, and I have to do my best. 

"Many people died from that curse during the war," Moody goes on. "But it requires a powerful bit of magic behind it. You could all pull out your wands, point them at me, and say the words, and I'd bet I wouldn't even get a nosebleed. Doesn't matter, though. I'm not going to teach you how to do it." 

Hmm, interesting. The wand movements were not complicated at all. I think back to my lessons with Quirrell in first year, about how he taught me how to get the most out of the Lightning Curse. I would imagine that it's something like that. You probably need strong, focused emotions and _will_ to make spells like this work. 

"You might ask why I'm showing it to you, then, if you can't block it or stop it," Moody says. "Why? Because you have to know. You have to understand what it is you're up against. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

Am I the only one in the class who isn't jumping whenever he says that? No, Neville's been pretty steady as well. It all happened so gradually I didn't even notice, but it seems after all that I've dragged Neville through, he's transformed from a terrified, bumbling boy into a hardened warrior who can face down dark magic without flinching. 

"These three spells are known as the Unforgivable Curses," Moody goes on. "Using any of them on a human being will get you a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. And that's what I need to prepare you to fight. You need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance!" 

The class spends the rest of the period making notes about the Unforgiveable Curses. When the bell rings and the rest of the class files out, however, I remain in my seat, staring at the parchment, lost in morbid thoughts. Horrible memories replaying themselves in my head. I glance up after a few moments and notice Hermione and Neville are still with me, looking at me in concern. 

"Stormseeker, are you alright?" Hermione asks me quietly. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. "Just thinking." 

"You want to go get some dinner?" Neville asks. 

I shake my head. "Not really," I say softly. "Why don't you guys go on without me?" I think, at the moment, I might just end up throwing up anything I ate. 

"No way," Neville says. "I'm not going to leave you like this." 

Professor Moody limps over toward us and says, "You kids alright here?" 

"Harry looks like he's going to be sick," Hermione says. 

"I'm just not hungry," I say. 

"It's alright, sonny," Moody says. "Why don't you come into my office and have some tea?" 

I give a nod, and say, "Alright." 

Moody looks to Neville and says, "You alright, Longbottom?" 

Neville nods, and says, "But I'm going with Harry, if that's alright with you." 

"I'm going down to dinner," Hermione says. "I'll see you later." She heads out. 

Neville and I follow Moody into his office, and he serves us up some tea. I absently mutter a substance analysis spell over my cup, and determine that it contains nothing but tea. I take a sip. I don't think Moody is out to get me, but I'd rather not take any chances. Moody is watching me all the while. 

"Does he normally do that?" Moody asks Neville. 

"I think he's almost as paranoid as you are," Neville says. "And after all we've been through, I don't blame him." 

"Constant vigilance," Moody says. "So, would you rather talk about it here than in the classroom?" 

"I'll talk," I say. "Better than stewing in my own thoughts, at any rate." 

"I just wonder, where in the world did you see the Imperius Curse before?" Moody asks. "You don't have to answer, Potter." 

"Chamber of Secrets," I say quietly. "Fucking Chamber of Secrets. _Fucking_ Lockhart, and that fucking diary." 

"Uh-oh, he's swearing," Neville murmurs. 

"That bad?" Moody asks Neville. 

"You can always tell he's actually angry by the fact that he starts swearing," Neville comments. "Normally, nothing bothers him." 

I smirk. "Good to know," I say. "I'll need to watch that, assuming I'm in a situation where I _care_. Anyway, the Chamber of Secrets. Lockhart would have everyone believe that _he_ uncovered the school's glorious secrets of the ancient past. That wasn't how things really happened, however." 

Neville looks at the floor. "It was a bad year all around, I think. What a mess." 

"Lockhart put you under the Imperius Curse?" Moody asks in alarm. 

I shake my head quickly. "No, Lockhart was only ever good at Memory Charms," I say, snorting softly. "I don't know how many people he's Obliviated over the years in order to support his lies." 

"So what really happened?" Moody wonders. " _Who_ used the Imperius Curse on you?" 

"The Dark Lord," I say. "Sort of." 

" _What?_ " Moody asks. "Sort of?" 

Forcing me to attack Snape. Draco's unconscious body, pierced by poison needles. Remus and Tonks, pierced by basilisk fangs. Moody dead on the floor without a mark on him. Remus, dead from a volley of lightning bolts. Friends dead by my hand, and I was happy to do it... 

I shudder involuntarily. "On second thought, I think I'd rather not talk about it," I say quietly. 

Neville puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. "It's alright, Stormseeker," he says. 

"Alright, then," Moody says. "Longbottom? Professor Sprout tells me that you like Herbology. I've got a book for you here. Why don't you take it?" 

Neville takes the book Moody offers, and says, "Thank you, sir." 

"And you, Potter," Moody say. "You're into dueling, aren't you?" 

"Yes, sir," I say, brightening abruptly and looking up at him in interest. 

"I've got a book for you here as well," Moody says. "I think you might find this interesting." He passes me a book on advanced dueling techniques. "Dueling's good practice, but it's not real combat. There's no rules in war. That book, however, has some techniques that are useful anywhere. Good material." 

"Thank you, sir," I say, taking it and smiling up at him. 

"Why don't you boys run along now?" Moody say. "You can still catch some dinner if you're so inclined." 

"Probably should," I say, putting the book in my bag of holding, and Neville and I leave the office. 

* * *

If it weren't for Ron and Seamus, I'd move Padfoot into my dorm in a heartbeat. As it is, I have to content myself with visiting him down in the Slytherin dungeons, when he's not out and about, anyway. He does visit Gryffindor Tower regularly, but since I can't really trust two of the people in my dorm, I don't like him staying there long, just in case. At least, since he hasn't caused any trouble and is being a very well-behaved dog, the teachers are content to ignore him for the most part. 

Then, one day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Moody announces, "I'm going to be putting each of you under the Imperius Curse today as a demonstration, and to see if you can resist it." 

"But, isn't that illegal?" Hermione asks. "To use it on another human being?" 

"Normally, yes," Moody says as he clears a space in the middle of the room. "Dumbledore wants you to know what it feels like, however. But I'm not going to force anyone here into submitting to it. If you'd rather learn firsthand when a dark wizard is casting it at you, feel free to step out. You're excused. Potter, you alright with this?" 

"You're going to be teaching us how to resist it?" I say with a determined grin. "Then bring it on." 

"That's the spirit," Moody says. 

After I say that, then nobody else dares to budge from their seats, even though some of them looked like they wanted to. One by one, Moody calls them forward and casts the curse upon them. Watching them perform humiliating antics against their will makes my blood run cold one moment, and then boil the next. 

"Potter," Moody calls. "You're next." 

I step forward into the center of the room, setting a hard expression on my face and looking at him intently. I _will_ learn how to resist this spell, and not just when forced to try to kill someone I'd rather die than harm. I wonder if that means that I didn't really care about Draco and Remus as much. I shake off that line of thought. That's unproductive. 

Moody points his wand at me, and says, " _Imperio!_ " 

My mind is filled with a happy, blissful feeling. Moody is now my master, and I would do anything for my master. There's nothing more in life that I would rather do. 

_Jump onto the desk_ , says the voice in my mind. I take great pleasure in following through with such a simple command. I climb up on top of the desk, poised and ready to do my master's bidding. 

Then I remember, I'm under the Imperius Curse. I'm supposed to be learning how to fight it off. Doesn't my master want me to learn how to fight it? 

_Dance,_ , orders the voice in my head. _Dance the jig._

Rage pours through my mind unbidden, and I recall the feeling before when I was forced to attack my friends. What's the difference between this and that? Where is the line that I will not cross? Why is it okay to let him do this, but not to kill Draco or Sirius? 

I'm dancing. I'm dancing against my will. My arms and legs are moving, and it makes me happy to do my master's will, and angry to do my master's will. In mid-step, my wand is in my hand, and I cast, " _Flipendo!_ " 

Moody stumbles, but the spell doesn't break. "Good, good, but that won't shake off the spell," he says. "You've got to force me out of your mind." 

_Don't attack me_ , says the voice in my mind insistantly. _Do a handstand on the desk_. 

The rage is starting to overcome the joy. _I am the eye of the storm_ , I think fiercely. A furious storm of emotions swirls about my mind, trying to protect me, trying to ward off outside influences. I will not be treated this way. I will not be helpless. I will not be used. I will not be _anyone's_ slave. "I am the Stormseeker," I roar. " _AND NO ONE IS MY MASTER!_ " 

"Good! Now that's what I'm looking for!" Moody says. "Did you see that? He fought it! It took him a while, but he broke my control completely!" 

For a moment, I'm concerned that I might be crackling, and giving all the appearance of the Dark Lord Stormseeker. But when I glance down at myself, there's nothing. No electricity playing along my body. That's something of a relief. The storm is only in my mind. Although, as I realize everyone is staring at me with a touch of fear, even Neville, I decide to quickly hop down off the desk. 

"Let's try that again, shall we?" Moody says. "Try to shake it off faster this time." 

After a few more tries, I'm able to focus and force it off immediately, and without screaming at the top of my lungs in a rage, either. 

"You think you're so great, Stormseeker?" Ron says. "I bet you I can do it too!" 

"Be my guest," I say, shrugging and standing aside. 

Moody puts Ron through the paces, but he doesn't have much success. Ron is more than a little miffed about this, practically fuming silently at me, as if personally blaming _me_ for his failure. 

Then Neville steps up and says, "I'd like another shot at it." 

"Do you, Longbottom?" Moody says. "Very well. Come on up." Neville stands before him, looking at him firmly and fearlessly. " _Imperio!_ " 

After a couple of seconds, Neville proceeds to stand on his head. He might have managed to resist the spell or hold him off for a brief moment. 

When Moody releases him from the curse, I go up to him and whisper, "Remember your Occlumency lessons? Think of that. Try doing it like you did that." 

"Alright, thanks," Neville replies, and I step aside. "Let's try that again," he asks Moody. 

Moody gives a nod, and again casts, " _Imperio!_ " 

Neville shudders for a moment, giving Moody a fierce look and setting his jaw, but doesn't budge this time. Shuddering, struggling, clenching his fists, but not moving. 

"There we go, now you're fighting it," Moody says. "Keep pushing. Just a little more and you'll be able to throw it off." 

And then, after a few more seconds, the control breaks. I can see the sudden change in Neville's eyes as he focuses upon Moody, and his body relaxes. 

"Very good, Longbottom," Moody says. "They'll have trouble controlling _you_ , that's for sure." 

The class ends, and the other students file out for dinner, but I linger for a moment in the classroom thoughtfully. 

"Something on your mind, Potter?" Moody asks me once we're alone. 

"I was just thinking," I say. "About those curses." 

"Vile things, aren't they?" Moody says. 

I shrug. "I still don't understand why they're considered 'unforgivable'." 

"They're the worst things a wizard can do to another," Moody says. 

"Why is it considered worse to kill someone with the Killing Curse than to set them on fire or electrocute them?" I ask. "It's quick and clean. If you're going to kill someone, wouldn't that be a better way to go than some of the alternatives?" 

"There may be a point to that, but it remains that there's no purpose to these spells but to impose your will upon other living beings," Moody says. "Starting a fire can be beneficial as well as harmful. But the Killing Curse can only be used to kill. And most people aren't going to be able to succeed in casting it anyway." 

"The wand movements were very simple," I say. "The incantation was not difficult. It's mostly based upon emotion and intent, isn't it?" 

"I'm not here to teach you how to cast the Unforgivable Curses, Potter," Moody says. 

"Why not?" I ask innocently. 

"Because they're vile, illegal, dark magic!" Moody snaps. 

"Magic is a tool," I say. "It can be used for good or for ill, depending upon the person using it. And didn't you say they were only illegal to use on humans? What if, say, a rampaging troll is coming at me? Wouldn't a Killing Curse be able to stop it?" 

"That's beside the point," Moody says. "Yes, you're not going to get sent to Azkaban for using them on non-humans, this is true. They might look askance at you for it, but they won't do anything about it. The Ministry doesn't much care what happens to animals, or house-elves, or whatever else." 

"I'd probably have an easier time of casting them than I did the Patronus Charm," I say. "It took me _years_ to get that right." I sigh. 

"I've heard rumors about you, Potter," Moody say. "I wasn't about to believe them, though. But what does that say about you? What kind of a wizard are you, Potter?" 

"The kind who can cast curses more easily than charms, but still intends to do the right thing and protect the innocent anyway," I reply. "Just using curses doesn't make you evil, does it?" 

"Hmph," Moody says. "You might make a fine Auror someday, perhaps. No, curses don't make you evil. Not even the Unforgivable Curses. You're just far more likely to be able to cast them if you are already evil." 

"You can cast them, though," I say. 

"I've been fighting dark wizards for most of my life," Moody says. "You don't get very far if you don't know what you're up against." 

"I'm hardly going to judge you, sir," I say. "I wasn't calling you evil, anymore than I intend to be evil myself, no matter what spells I might want to use." 

"Fine," Moody says. "I'm still not going to teach you that." 

"Would you rather I secretly sneak off to try it out on my own in private?" I say. 

"Are you telling me that you would do that?" Moody asks. 

"I would, and I will," I say. "Wouldn't it be preferable if I had some supervision, however?" 

Moody glares at me hard, his magical eye fixating upon me, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. "You could be expelled for this line of research," Moody points out. "But I hardly think that you intend to be the next Dark Lord, contrary to what some might think, especially if you're actually asking me this and not going off to practice in secret and do whatever else." 

"So, will you teach me?" I ask. 

Moody grumbles. "The Ministry would have my head if they thought I was teaching Unforgivables in school." 

"The Ministry isn't going to find out," I say. 

"Fine," Moody says. "I will teach you. But only to make sure you don't go off on your own and do something rash, and have someone get hurt, do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. "Thank you, sir." 

"Don't thank me yet," Moody say. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." 

* * *

That weekend, I have my first 'special lesson' with Moody, under the guise of a detention. I didn't even dare to tell my friends what exactly I was going to do, although I did let them know that it wasn't really a detention, and they didn't press me further on it. 

I step into Moody's office at the appointed time, nervous, terrified. I'm really going to be doing this? I think I'm more scared of _myself_ than anything else. 

"You look like you just swallowed a spider, Potter," Moody say. "Getting cold feet? You can back out anytime, you know. If you've changed your mind and can't stomach this after all, you can walk right out that door and I won't say a word." 

I take a deep breath and shake my head. "No," I say. "I'm going to do this." 

"Hmph," Moody says. "If you were one of those Death Eater babies, you'd probably be all eager and excited for the opportunity. But you're not, and that's a good sign. Tell me, why do you really want to learn this?" 

"Because I'm not about to turn up my nose at powerful tools just because some believe they are evil," I say. 

"And what do you intend to do with these tools?" Moody asks. 

"Protect myself," I say. "Protect my friends. Protect everyone I care about. Stop evil." Kill Sedder. _Kill Sedder_. 

"Well enough," Moody says. "You want to fight dark wizards with their own weapons? Good for you, I say. Constant vigilance!" 

"Yes, sir!" 

"Now, which spell do you want to start with?" Moody asks. 

"The Killing Curse, of course," I say. 

Moody gives a nod. "You've already learned about casting spells which require strong will, intent, and a specific mental state, you've said. You can cast the Patronus Charm, I believe you mentioned?" I nod at him. "Show me." 

I think of the rainbow after the storm. " _Expecto Patronum._ " My silvery, translucent duck emerges from my wand and looks about for danger. 

"And you were practicing this spell for _years_ in order to cast it right?" Moody asks. 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I was determined to get it, however, and I wasn't about to give up." 

"I'm glad I agreed to teach you, then," Moody says, snorting softly. "If you were that stubborn about learning a spell like that, I'd hate to see what you'd do with curses unsupervised." 

"Probably kill myself, blow up a tower, or something," I say lightly, dismissing my Patronus. 

"The Unforgivable Curses require a completely different sort of mental state than the Patronus Charm, however," Moody says. "You're looking at negative emotions, there. Anger, hate, desire to kill. Will and intent. You must have will and intent in order to cast them." 

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'd assume they're more like the Lightning Curse in that regard." 

"You can cast the Lightning Curse?" Moody says. "When did you learn that?" 

"First year," I say. "But I could do it as accidental magic even before I learned the actual spell. Lightning magic comes naturally to me, but once I learned how to control it better, I could do more with it." 

"I see," Moody says, staring at me. "Who taught you the Lightning Curse in your first year?" 

"Um... the Dark Lord," I say. 

" _What?_ " Moody exclaims. 

"He was possessing our Defense professor," I say. "Quirrell." 

"I see," Moody says, shaking his head. "And I see why Dumbledore was so desparate to hire me. Very well. When you cast the Killing Curse, start off by trying to cast it like you do the Lightning Curse, then. Do you need to review the incantation or wand movements?" 

"No, sir," I say. "I think I've got it." 

Moody pulls out a spider and puts it on the desk. It tries to scuttle off, but he casts, " _Impedimenta!_ " and the spider stops moving. Moody steps out of the way to stand behind me, and says, "Do it." 

I whip out my wand and point it at the spider. I wasn't nervous while I was talking about it, but now I'm utterly terrified again. I don't really want to do this. I don't enjoy killing. I'm not psychotic. I never wanted to hurt anyone. 

But no. These thoughts won't help me cast this spell. I take a deep breath and calm myself. Focus. Bring out my anger and hate. There is one person in all of the multiverse who I really want to kill. _Sedder_. I fix my mind upon that thought. The way he killed me, the way he killed my cousins, I want to stop him, I want to kill him, I want to destroy him utterly. Focus my hate into my magic, into my spell-- 

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ " I scream. 

A flash of green light fills my vision. The spider in front of me twitches and flips over. I've killed it. 

"Weak, but a good first effort," Moody says. "That wouldn't stop a human being, never mind a troll or anything like that." 

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask. 

"The movements and incantation were fine," Moody says. "Your thoughts were probably unfocused, not focused nearly good enough. Did you have any doubt as to what you intended to do? Any second thoughts, hesitation?" 

"Yes, sir," I admit quietly. "I was afraid. I didn't really want to kill it." 

Moody snorts softly. "If that's the case, it's a wonder you succeeded in casting it at all, even weakly. How did you manage that?" 

"I thought about the one person I really wanted to kill, and how much I hate him," I say softly. 

"I see," Moody says. "The one who gave you that scar, I assume?" 

I think of Dumbledore, and I can't help but chuckle softly, which only causes Moody to look at me strangely. "No," I say. "I never even knew James and Lily Potter. I was raised by a family of American wizards. But, shortly before I came to Hogwarts... they were murdered by a dark wizard who called himself Sedder." 

"Sedder?" Moody asks. 

"Not his real name, of course, but when do they ever go by their real names? I had a pair of cousins, twin girls, they were nine years old at the time... it's their screams who haunt my nightmares, not the birth parents I never met. It's Sedder who has my undivided hate. And when I'm done with Hogwarts, I am going to hunt down that son of a bitch, and I will _kill him_." 

"I can understand that," Moody says. "And I'll wish you good luck in that." 

"Don't wish me luck," I say. "Give me the tools I need to pull it off." 

"Very well," Moody says. "Let's try this again..."


	65. Age Lines

That's not the last of my 'detentions' with Moody. As autumn wears on, I'm getting better with the Killing Curse, able to cast it faster and more effectively. 

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " I cast, and with a rush of green light, a rat drops dead. 

My heart is racing, and it's such a _thrill_ to cast that spell. Such power! I was too horrified at what I was doing to really notice it the first time that I barely managed to cast it. But now, I find myself wanting to kill things, eager for these sessions, looking forward to them all week. It's getting easier and easier to cast the spell, and in the back of my mind, this disturbs me greatly. 

Paranoid of _Prior Incantato_ , I clear out my wand after every session. _Lumos, Tempus, Scourgify, Reparo_ , and so forth. The halls become very clean, and perhaps I've disappointed a few house-elves in giving them less work to do. 

Classes in general are even rougher this year than they were last year. I suppose it's because the material is more advanced, and whatever knowledge I gained in the future doesn't really help so much here. I'm reaching the limits of where I've studied ahead. 

I can do the Summoning Charms that Flitwick is teaching us already, but I've even fallen behind Neville in Transfiguration. I imagine that I would probably be completely useless in Charms if I hadn't been studying ahead. Most of the spare time I have that isn't spent with Storm Army's informal Dueling Club is spent practicing charms. At least Hermione is happy to help, when she isn't hanging out with Rispy, plotting elvish liberation, or snogging Draco, or whatever it is she's doing. Well, I don't _think_ she's actually snogging Draco, at any rate. 

Dealing with my transformations this year is rougher, since I don't have the excuse of spending them with a known werewolf that I did last year. I wind up convincing Snape to give me Wideye Potion so that I can continue to attend classes after spending nights as a werewolf. I'm missing a lot of sleep, but I push through by sheer stubbornness. It's making a wreck out of me, however. 

In Potions, we've been studying antidotes, and I've been being as hopeless at it as usual. 

"Potter," Snape says. "You rely on Malfoy far too much in this class, I think." 

"It's better this way," I say. "Fewer explosions. Same reason Neville's with Hermione. I _know_ this isn't where my talents lie, but at least I know enough not to cause unnecessary problems." 

Snape peers down at me. "And what would you do if you cannot brew a proper antidote?" 

"Shove a bezoar down their throat," I reply. "Definitely beats wasting the time attempting to make an antidote that I doubt would be brewed well enough to work properly anyway." 

Snape is looking at me strangely. Maybe he's forgotten about what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. So he was Obliviated, but it's not like my memory was lying. I did show that to him, didn't I? "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek," Snape says lazily. "Carry on, Potter." He shakes his head as he walks away. 

"That was weird," Draco whispers. 

Toward the end of October, the groups from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive. We get out of Potions class early because of it. That's probably just as well. The entire school is brought out to gather as the visiting students arrive. 

Padfoot takes a place at my side, and McGonagall glares at him for a moment. "At least the dog is better behaved than some of my _human_ students," she mutters, moving on. 

Beauxbatons arrives in an enormous flying carriage, and a woman as big as Hagrid climbs out. A dozen students in their late teens come out after her, shivering in their thin clothing. Didn't they realize it would be cooler here? And do they not bother teaching Warming Charms in whatever sort of obviously warmer climate Beauxbatons is located in? 

The Durmstrang group comes in a ship that emerges from the lake. It looks as though it might have been a wreck or something. It must be enchanted to be able to travel to whatever body of water they want it to. That must be an interesting bit of enchantment work. The Durmstrang students are all wearing cloaks of heavy fur. Maybe it's just as well that this wasn't being hosted at Durmstrang, since the Beauxbatons lot would likely be _freezing_ there. 

"Look, it's Krum!" Draco whispers next to me. 

"Who?" I say. "Oh, the Quidditch player? He goes to Durmstrang? Didn't realize he was so young. Playing at the World Cup when he's still in school?" 

"I'm going to try to get his autograph," Draco says. 

I snort softly in amusement and just shake my head, grinning. We head into the Great Hall. The students from Beauxbatons take seats at the Ravenclaw table, while the ones from Durmstrang situate themselves at the Slytherin table. Draco drags me over to try to get a seat straight across from them. Which one of them was Krum again? I didn't exactly get a close look during the Quidditch World Cup. 

"Oh, the Stormseeker wants to sit here," murmurs a sixth year. "We'll move." The older students shuffle away and let my group sit across from the Durmstrang students. 

"Is this your table?" asks one of the foreigners. "You aren't wearing the same colors as the others at this table." He talks a little funny, well, funnier than usual for this world, but I'm quite used to hearing the people at Hogwarts talk by now. 

"Technically, I'm in Gryffindor," I say, gesturing vaguely off toward their table. 

"But some of the other Gryffindors don't like him overly much, so we usually sit with the Slytherins," Neville says. 

"What did they call you? Stormseeker?" asks another student. 

"Ah, allow me to introduce myself," I say. "I am Harry Potter. And yeah, they call me the Stormseeker." I snort softly. "It beats calling me the Boy-Who-Lived. I've surely got _some_ claim to fame beyond merely not dying." 

"Harry Potter," says one of the Durmstrang boys. "Good to meet you. I am Viktor Krum." 

"I'm Draco Malfoy. Can I get your autograph? I'm totally your biggest fan!" 

I snort again, almost choking on the bite of food I'd just put in my mouth. Padfoot seems to be amused as well, stopping eating for a moment to give a sort of canine laugh. 

"Perhaps later," Viktor offers, peering at Padfoot. "That's an awfully large dog. They allow you to bring pets like that to the table?" 

"Wouldn't want to be sneaking him food or having him raiding the kitchens, would we?" I say. "Good doggy." I scratch him behind the ears fondly. 

"I don't know if it's so much _allowed_ as that nobody really wants to argue about it," Hermione says. 

"So, Viktor Krum, is it?" I say. "You can play Quidditch, it seems. But can you duel?" I grin at him wickedly. 

"Are you challenging me, little boy?" Viktor says. "What's it to you?" 

"I'm the current head of the Hogwarts Dueling Club," I say. 

"You?" Viktor says. "What are you, twelve, thirteen?" 

"Fourteen!" I say. Physically thirteen, mentally fifteen, close enough. 

"They canceled Quidditch and Dueling Club this year, what with the Tournament," Draco gripes. "But that wasn't about to stop the Stormseeker from doing it unofficially." 

"I see," Viktor says. "Well, then, give me a time and place, if you want to see what a real duelist can do." 

"You're on," I say. "Saturday, after breakfast, in the room next to the tapestry with the sleeping dragon." 

At the end of the feast, Dumbledore stands up and announces, "The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin." 

First, however, he introduces Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch, leaving me yawning. I already saw both of them at the Quidditch World Cup. A former Quidditch player who tries to goad people into gambling, and a... what in the Abyss does Crouch actually do, anyway? I'm not sure that I even care. 

"In addition to myself, Madame Maxine, and Professor Karkaroff, the heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang respectively, they will be making up the panel of judges that will score the champions' efforts," Dumbledore goes on. 

An old, jeweled chest is brought forth, and the students peer over and whisper excitedly about it. 

"We will hold three tasks throughout the year, to test the champions' magical skills, intelligence, and capability of handling danger and the unknown," Dumbledore says. "There will be three champions, one from each of the competing schools. And the student to compete for each participating school will be chosen by an impartial selector that cannot be influenced by outside forces: The Goblet of Fire." 

Dumbledore taps the chest, and pulls out a large wooden cup filled with blue flames. 

"Anyone wishing to compete must write their name and school on a piece of parchment and place it into this cup," Dumbledore says. "You have twenty-four hours to enter. Tomorrow night, the champions for each school will be selected. And, to ensure that no underage student can enter, I will be drawing an Age Line around the goblet that will prevent anyone under the age of seventeen from crossing." 

I murmur to my friends, "You know, this entire setup seems a little silly. Didn't this tournament used to take place every five years? But the way they have it set up now, only seventh years and a few sixth years are going to be able to enter. So most people would never even have a chance to try to compete. They really ought to make up their minds whether they want this to be a competition for students or for adults." 

"Not that it should be a problem to _you_ " Draco whispers. "I'm sure you'll find a way to enter." 

All of the Durmstrang students enter their names. Fred and George attempt to bypass the Age Line with some sort of potion, but they're flung back several feet and sprout long, white beards. Impressive Beard-Growing Jinx, I think. 

I, however, am not about to test it in front of everyone. I take a nap in the evening, putting up with nightmares so as not to waste a Dream Sweet and make sure that I'll actually want to wake up. I wait until after curfew, and then slip down in the invisibility cloak. The hour of midnight is just striking as I arrive, and no one else appears to be around. 

I slip forward, creeping up to the Age Line. WHOOSH! I go flying backward, just like the Weasley twins had, sprouting a beard of my own. I mutter a Shaving Charm and straighten myself up. Why do I even know that charm? Because I know the Beard-Growing Jinx and I'm paranoid. 

So, whether it goes by physical age or mental age, I'm still underage. Bah, I'm a Time Mage. I should be able to work around this. I just need to be a few years older. _I need to be older_. 

I shudder involuntarily. What was that? It felt like my skin was crawling for a moment. Wait, why is my face rough? I just shaved! Hmm, could it be, I wonder? _I need to be older_ , I think hard, focusing upon that thought harder. 

I almost collapse that time, my head spinning, my skin crawling, my body shifting. It's not as painful as the werewolf transformation, but it does ache. I put my hand against the wall, panting softly. I feel as though I just ran a mile in five seconds. 

Well, it feels like I'm older, certainly. The sudden gain in height feels a little awkward, and my robes fit uncomfortably snugly on my chest. If this doesn't get me past the Age Line, nothing will. I approach the shimmering golden line, step across, and then promptly get flung back again, sprouting a brand new beard once more. 

Obviously, it goes by mental age, not physical. I could be hundreds of years old, physically, but I'm still only mentally fifteen, so that's the age it must think I am. Or worse, it might be able to determine that I should actually chronologically be thirteen in the current time frame. That doesn't really matter at the moment, however. Either way, I'm simply not old enough. 

My bones ache, and my skin crawls some more. Damn it, I didn't mean to do that. Wishing that I were older is actually making me older. I never actually wished that I were older before. I was perfectly content with the age I actually was. Now, my body is full of all of these little aches, and my skin hangs from my bones as though it's trying to cover up more than there is. My vision is hazy, like everything is a little out of focus. 

I lean against the wall heavily, and slide down to the floor. My heart is pounding in my chest, weakly, painfully, like it can't quite keep up with the exertion I've been putting my body through. I slip down into darkness. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor boys' dorm, shortly before midnight, and blink. What in the Abyss happened? What did I do, age myself to death somehow? Brilliant, just brilliant. 

Surely there must be some way to get my name into the Goblet of Fire, but right at this moment, I'm more concerned and curious about this strange new ability of mine that I've discovered. I head into the bathroom and peer at myself in the mirror. Ordinary thirteen year old boy. At least it doesn't appear to have had any lingering effects. 

So, how did I do it? Did I just kind of want to be older, and I got older? This would be really bad if it happened accidentally again. I'm going to need to learn to control this. And if I can make myself older, I can probably make myself younger again, or simply not age at all, couldn't I? 

I strip off my clothes so that they aren't getting in the way, since this sort of transformation doesn't seem to change them. Then, I carefully start experimenting a bit. Older, younger, specific ages. The more I do it and the faster I do it, the more it hurts, though. The human body wasn't meant to undergo rapid changing of ages. At least I manage to avoid killing myself from old age again. 

The door opens behind me and I jump in surprise as I see Ron's reflection in the mirror. He stands and gapes speechlessly at the naked middle-aged man standing in the dorm restroom. 

Once he overcomes his shock, Ron whips out his wand and pokes it at my back. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?" 

"Um... hi, Ron," I murmur in a voice that sounds way too deep. "It's me, Harry." 

Ron peers up at the reflection of my face, as I'm still not going to turn around. "Harry Potter?" he repeats. "What did you _do_?" 

"I was trying to get past the Age Line," I say. 

Ron snorts softly. "Always trying for fame and glory, aren't you?" he says. "Didn't you see what happened to my brothers, you idiot?" 

"It was worth a shot," I say. "But it didn't work, anyway." 

"Of course it didn't," Ron says. "Dumbledore's magic isn't about to be tricked that easily. But more importantly, _why are you naked?_ " 

"My clothes wouldn't fit anymore like this," I say a little sheepishly. 

I focus my Time Magic on becoming younger again so that I don't have to stand in front of Ron like this anymore. A little too enthusiastically, however. I keep shrinking rapidly past my intended age, down to a child, a toddler, a baby. I start panicking fervently moments before the world winks out. 

* * *

I wake up with a start. Damn it, I killed myself again. I need to quit doing that. Obviously, my control over this power still isn't nearly as good as it ought to be. I need to try and put in some mental blocks as safeguards or something. No going under one year old or over seventy, no matter what. There's no good reason to want to go outside of that range, anyway. 

Unless, of course, I just want a quick way to kill myself, I suppose. Which might not be such a terrible thing, really. An emergency way to force a reset if need be. Not something I would want to do carelessly, of course, but it's always good to have options. 

I think, however, that I will leave further practice with this for another time. Two accidental, self-inflicted deaths is enough for one night, I think. Instead, I turn my thoughts on how to get my name into the Goblet of Fire. Pulling the invisibility cloak back on, I head downstairs again. 

So, let's see. I bring out the piece of parchment with my name on it. First I try getting it across by levitating it over, but it just stops at the Age Line. Then I try wadding the bit of parchment up into a ball and chucking it in. Even without magic powering it, the parchment stops at the Age Line again. Dumbledore isn't about to make this easy, is he. Everything I try fails. 

Then I have an idea. I grin broadly and slip down to the Slytherin dorms to see a dog about a man. A man that is a dog. A dog that is a man. Whatever. 

Padfoot's ears perk up as I creep into the dorm, doubtless hearing my footsteps before I even take off the cloak. 

I mutter a few quick spells to ensure some privacy and not to wake up the Slytherins, and say, "Hey, Sirius?" 

The dog's form morphs and changes, and Sirius Black stands before me. "Evening, Harry," Sirius says. "What are you doing?" 

"Trying to get my name into the Goblet of Fire for the tournament," I say. "It's not working very well. So, I don't suppose I can convince you to put my name in for me?" 

Sirius scowls at me. "You know I don't approve of you trying to do this, Harry," Sirius says. "It's dangerous, and it's bound to attract far too much attention. Let someone else be in the spotlight for once." 

"Oh, come on, Sirius," I say. "When have you ever been a stickler for rules? You, Padfoot, of the mighty Marauders?" 

"It's nothing to do with the rules, Harry," Sirius says firmly. "I just don't want to see you getting hurt, you know?" 

"I'm immortal," I remind him. "In fact, I've already accidentally died twice tonight, but that's another matter entirely..." 

"Harry!" Sirius says. "You shouldn't take this so flippantly. I'm just looking out for you, you know? And I'm worried about what might happen if you end up becoming more famous than you already are. What if they scrutinize your actions to the point where your crimes are uncovered? You _don't_ want to go to Azkaban, believe me." 

I sigh, looking to the floor as my expression falls. "I know... I just... I'm sorry, I just thought it would be fun and a good chance to prove myself..." 

"There will always be more opportunites for fun," Sirius says. "And who do you have to prove yourself to? Yourself?" 

"I guess you're right," I say, although I can't help but sound extremely disappointed. 

"Why don't you look on it as an opportunity to prank the pants off of the actual champions?" Sirius says with a grin. "It's not every year that you get stuck-up foreign students hanging around Hogwarts, after all." 

I chuckle softly. "That might not be such a terrible idea." 

"Keep that thought in mind," Sirius says. "Now, why don't you run off to bed and get some sleep? Unless you're planning to stay here tonight, of course." 

"I think I'll just stay here," I say, canceling my spells and curling up on the couch. Sirius resumes canine form and cuddles up next to me. I pull a Dream Sweet out of my bag of holding, pop it into my mouth and settle in for sleep. 

* * *

The next day is Monday, Halloween. Hopefully I've already gotten the potential for bad things on Halloween out of the way with dying this morning. Still, not a single Halloween can pass for me without feeling a nagging sense of dread, whether anything bad actually ends up happening or not. 

"So, the Stormseeker decided to sneak into our dorm to crash last night, huh?" Draco says. "Why don't you just join Slytherin already and make it official?" 

"Nah," I say. "Besides, I like being in Gryffindor." 

"Why?" Blaise wonders. 

"Because nothing says 'I'm a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation' like being in Gryffindor," I reply. 

"You're not an idiot, boss," Crabbe says. 

"So, did you do it?" Draco asks. "Did you get your name in?" 

I shake my head. "Sadly not. But I did discover something neat I can do! Watch this!" 

Carefully, much more carefully than I had done before, I will myself to be older, stopping at around the age of forty. Then I make myself young again, down to five years old, before returning to the age I'm supposed to be. 

"Whoa!" Draco says. "You can change your age at will! Kind of like a Metamorphmagus, like that my half-blood cousin of mine? Except just with age and not appearance, I guess." 

"Hmm," Blaise says. "That would be awfully useful for disguises, I think." 

Theodore adds, "And for getting into anyplace that would require you to be an adult that isn't as stringent as an Age Line." 

"I just need to be careful not to go too far in either direction," I say. This could also be useful if I'd rather start off in a new life as an adult rather than deal with being a child again. Of course, if I'm attempting to learn magic and enter myself in a magic school, then being a child would still be ideal. 

That evening, following the Halloween feast, everyone is eagerly looking to the Goblet of Fire. 

"The goblet is almost ready to decide on the champions for this tournament," Dumbledore says. "When I call the champions' names, I want them each to come up and enter through that door for further instructions." 

So I won't be competing this year. I still haven't gotten over how disappointed I am about that. I can have my little unofficial Dueling Club, but it's just not the same. It doesn't even matter if I would have won or not. The point is in testing myself. If I can't even win a duel against Ginny Weasley, I'd have no hope against Sedder. 

The flames in the Goblet of Fire flare up and turn red, and a piece of parchment flies out. Dumbledore catches it and reads, "The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum." 

"Way to go, Krum!" Draco says, applauding as Viktor gets up and heads for the side room. 

"Bravo, Viktor!" exclaims Karkaroff. 

The goblet spits out another parchment, and Dumbledore grabs it and reads, "The champion for Beauxbatons will be Fleur Delacour." 

A beautiful girl with silvery hair gets up and heads over to the door. 

A third parchment comes out of the goblet, and Dumbledore takes that and says, "The champion for Hogwarts will be Cedric Diggory!" 

"Who?" I mutter. 

"Hufflepuff," Draco says distastefully. "Seeker for their house team." 

"You know who this competition is really unfair toward?" I say. "Gemma Farley. She totally should've been our champion. But we get a Hufflepuff instead? Bah." 

"I hear he's a good student," Hermione says. 

"He's a _Hufflepuff_ ," Draco says. "Hard work, and all that." 

"Now we have our three champions for the tournament!" Dumbledore says. "I hope I can count on all of you to give your champion all the support you can..." Dumbledore blinks and turns around in surprise as the goblet flares to life one more time, and another piece of parchment comes out. He peers at the piece of paper in puzzlement, and then says, "Apparently, the champion for the Salem Witches' Institute will be Harry Potter..." 

" _What?_ " I exclaim. 

"You got your name in the goblet after all?" Draco asks. 

"No," I say firmly. "And if I had, it certainly wouldn't have been under the _Salem Witches' Institute!_ " 

"Harry, if you would please come up here?" Dumbledore beckons me over. 

I approach the staff table. "But I'm not even a witch!" I protest. 

I'd already resigned myself to not getting to compete, but now that I've unexpectedly wound up being entered, I'm not sure whether or not I should even be happy about it. Was this some sort of horrible prank? Who put my name into the goblet? 

"Through the door, Harry," Dumbledore says. 

I step into the room where Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric are waiting. Fleur looks up at me and says, "What is it? Are we needed outside again?" 

Ludo Bagman comes into the room behind me, and says, "This is more extraordinary! May I introduce our fourth Triwizard champion, Harry Potter?" 

"It's not a Triwizard Tournament if there are four champions," I point out. "And I don't attend the Salem Witches' Institute. I've never even been there." 

"What is going on here?" Viktor asks. 

" _Somebody_ put my name into the stupid goblet," I say. "Under the Salem Witches' Institute!" 

"This must be a mistake," Fleur says. "He's too young to compete." 

"I'm afraid it's a magically binding contract," Ludo says. "He can't back out now. Harry Potter is compelled to compete." 

I'm not Harry Potter, however. I can't tell them that, though. Still, if I wanted to back out of this, I shouldn't receive any ill effects from it. 

The three headmasters come into the room, along with Mr. Crouch. Fleur looks at them indignantly and exclaims, "What is the meaning of this? Is this little boy supposed to be competing too?" 

_Little boy?_ I glare at her, and my skin ripples involuntarily. I find myself abruptly a few inches taller. Crap, I didn't mean to do that. Everyone is looking at me in alarm. 

"What on earth was that?" Ludo says. 

"I think we've figured out how he managed to bypass the Age Line," Viktor says. 

"I didn't," I say. "I swear, I tried, actually, but I couldn't get across anyway. I _was_ going to try to enter, but if I had, it would have been under Hogwarts, not the freaking Salem Witches' Institute." 

"Harry, _what_ did you just do?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Um..." I say. "I'm apparently a sort of Metamorphmagus or something. I can change my age at will." 

"Fascinating!" Ludo says. "A most unique and extraordinary ability!" 

"Regardless of how old he looks, he's still a child!" Fleur says. 

"And Hogwarts should not have two champions," Madame Maxine says. "It would be quite unfair." 

"Technically, I'm not a champion for Hogwarts," I say. "I'm a champion for the Salem Witches' Institute. Perhaps someone should contact their headmistress. I'm sure she might like to know about this." 

"You told us that your Age Line would keep out the younger contestants," Karkaroff says. "Otherwise, we would have brought a wider selection of potential candidates along with us." 

"It _did_ keep me out," I say. "It only cares about mental age, not physical." I grumble a little and will myself to return to the proper age, if only because my clothes are uncomfortable when I'm bigger like that. "I even tried to convince an older friend to put my name in for me, but he refused. So, despite me _trying and failing_ to find a way to get my name in, and giving up, I wound up in anyway somehow?" 

I sigh and sit back over in the corner and watch them argue about it. I wonder where Theodore got that lovely portable magic popcorn maker. The way the adults are going at each others' throats about this really makes me want to munch on some. Honestly, at this point, I don't even care whether I wind up competing or not. Even some of the professors are getting in on the argument. Maxine and Karkaroff are threatening to lodge complaints. 

"If anyone has a right to complain, it's Potter!" Moody says. 

"And I'm primarily complaining about the fact that I was entered under the Salem Witches' Institute," I say. "Do I have to wear their uniform, too?" 

"This is a chance many of us would die for!" Fleur says. 

"And maybe someone is hoping Potter will die for it," Moody points out. 

"I probably will," I say lightly, shrugging. "But my name came out of the goblet, so I'm not about to back out now. I will fight for the honor of the Salem Witches' Institute!" 

"Weren't you just complaining about that?" Cedric comments. 

"Yes," I say. "But, you know, _honor_ , damn it." 

"Harry's courage is admirable," Dumbledore says, which only sparks another argument. I sigh, roll my eyes, and wish for popcorn. 

Finally, after settling the fact that I'm going to be competing, Mr. Crouch finally decides to give us the instructions we've been waiting for. "The first task will take place on the twenty-four of November." A good week after the next full moon, excellent. "It will be to test your ability to cope with the unknown, so we will not be telling you what it is. You are not permitted to ask for help from their teachers for the tournament. With the first task, you will have only your wands. You will receive information about the second task when the first is over. You are also exempted from the exams at the end of the year." 

With that, we're dismissed. I decide to head down to the Slytherin dungeons rather than up to Gryffindor Tower. To my surprise, Neville and Hermione are already in the common room when I arrive. 

"What are you doing here?" I ask. 

"Got sick of the nonsense going on upstairs," Hermione says. 

"The Gryffindors hate you now," Neville says. "Even more than before, that is." 

"We Slytherins, on the other hand, are still your loyal followers," Draco says with a crooked grin. 

"Well, that's good to hear," I say. "So is this going to be a party celebrating me being a champion, or commiserating someone putting my name in the goblet against my will?" 

"Which would be more fun?" Theodore asks. 

"Point," I say. "I was trying to enter myself _anyway_ , I suppose, so hey, let's party!"


	66. Pride and Prejudice

So, from the looks of things, the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws all seem to hate me now, and the Slytherins still like me. Go figure. I'm not too bothered by it, though, since my inner circle all stand by me unwaveringly anyway. I don't even really care overly much if people think that I cheated to put my name in myself. What's the point? 

I do, however, send off a letter to the headmistress of the Salem Witches' Institute to let her know what's going on. I let her know that she can come and judge the events if she likes, and tell her when the first task will be. I wonder if Solomon really wants to make a trip across an ocean, but the prospect doesn't seem to bother him much. 

During breakfast on Wednesday morning, one of the Gryffindor prefects comes over and approaches me at the Slytherin table. "Harry?" she says. I wrack my brain trying to remember her name, but I'm drawing a blank. "I just wanted you to know that we don't _all_ hate you. I know you don't really feel comfortable at our table anymore, but I wanted to wish you luck in the tournament." 

I have to remind myself that she's not intentionally trying to wish horrible things to happen to me, and take her gesture at face value. "Thanks," I say. "I'll do my best. I might wind up losing, Merlin knows Viktor's way more experienced than me, but let it not be said that the Stormseeker didn't give a good fight." 

It doesn't take long for people to start sporting badges that say 'SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY' and 'STORMSEEKER FARTS', and other creative insults. I just have to roll my eyes at the stupidity of it all. Never before have I felt so much like I'm surrounded by _children_. 

I'm interrupted during Potions class to be dragged out for some sort of tournament related ceremonies. Probably just as well, I suppose. Draco can finish his potion just as well without me. 

I end up in a classroom with the other champions, Ludo Bagman, and a witch wearing hideous magenta robes. 

"There's nothing for you to worry about, Harry," Ludo says. "We're just doing the weighing of the wands today, to make sure your wands are fully functional. And we'll be having some photographs taken, as well. Allow me to introduce Rita Skeeter," he gestures to the witch with no fashion sense. "She's doing a piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet_." 

"Ah," I say, putting on my best mask of false sincerity. "I have seen your articles, Miss Skeeter. You're totally my favorite journalist. Always getting to the hard truth of the matter." I almost gag just saying that. 

"Really?" Rita says. "It's always nice to meet someone who appreciates the fine art of journalism. Could I have a quick word with Harry before we start?" 

"Of course," I reply. 

Rita promptly practically drags me into a broom closet with taloned fingers. She takes a seat on a bucket, and says, "Now, do you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, so I can talk to you freely?" 

"Be my guest," I say, shrugging. 

She pulls out a quill, and says, "I'm Rita Skeeter, reporter for the _Daily Prophet_." The quill moves on its own, scribbling out something about Rita being an attractive blonde having punctured many inflated reputations. I quirk an eyebrow at her. She ignores me. "So, tell me, Harry, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?" 

Well, to be honest, I _did_ intend to enter the tournament, and I _did_ end up in the tournament, even if it wasn't my own efforts that got me into it. Let's just pretend that I meant for this to happen. "Honor and glory, of course," I reply. "A chance to prove to the world that I'm not just great for not dying." 

I glance over at the parchment, where the quill is moving rapidly, scrawling out something about me being a glory hound, blinded by my own fame, being needy for attention with the loss of my parents, and so forth. 

"Ignore the quill, please," Rita says. "How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Are you excited? Or nervous?" 

"Both, really," I say. 

The quill scribbles something about how I'm apparently looking forward to besting the tournament with my talent with the Dark Arts. "Can you remember your parents at all?" Rita asks. 

"I don't see how that's relevant to the discussion," I say. 

Rita's quill writes about how I'm a defiant, rebellious youth, dabbling in dark powers that my parents would surely have disowned me for. 

"I think that's quite enough of this," I say, glaring at the parchment. I reach over and grab the quill. 

"Now, Harry," Rita says. "There's no need to do anything rash--" 

Rita is saved from me doing anything rash by the closet door opening suddenly. Dumbledore is standing outside, looking in at us. 

"Ah, Dumbledore!" Rita says excessively brightly. "How are you? Did you see the piece I did over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?" 

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says. "I was especially delighted by your description of me as an obsolete dingbat." His eyes twinkle. "Come on now, Harry, the wand weighing ceremony is about to begin." He turns back to the room. 

"Could I have my quill back now, Harry?" Rita says in a sickly sweet tone. 

I glare at her, fuming, for a few moments, before releasing the quill and stalking after Dumbledore. I don't really care what she writes about me, and it's not like it's not _true_ , I suppose. 

Ollivander is here to examine our wands. Hopefully, Dumbledore has already spoken with him and he won't give me away. Well, he didn't with Sirius, but I suppose he had his attention on other things at the time. 

Rita sits off to the side, her Quick-Quotes Quill writing madly. I wonder what she's writing about _now_. Maybe I should have just snapped her quill while I had the chance. 

Ollivander tests the wands of the other champions. Fleur's wand of rosewood and veela hair, Viktor's of hornbeam and dragon heartstring, Cedric's of ash and unicorn hair. And then he comes to me. 

"Stormseeker, may I see your wand, please?" Ollivander says. I hand it over to him to examine as he had the others. "Hmm, yes, I remember selling you this wand. A most peculiar customer you were." He flashes me a small grin. "Pine and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches." He sends forth a fountain of wine from it. "Perfect condition still. Here you go." 

Then, with that out of the way, I patiently sit through a photography session. "It's a pity my headmistress couldn't be here for this," I say after a group shot of all the champions and heads of the schools involved. 

"Harry?" Dumbledore says. 

"I wrote her, you know, but I haven't gotten a reply back yet," I say. 

"You're still a student of Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore says. 

"Certainly not," I say. "Hogwarts can't have two champions. I'm with the Salem Witches' Institute this year." 

"As you say, Harry," Dumbledore says indulgently. 

* * *

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Viktor Krum and a handful of the other Durmstrang students show up in my Dueling Club's usual meeting room. 

"So you are here," I say, looking over from where I was trying to teach Luna to cast the Shield Charm. 

"I said I would come," Viktor says, looking around the room disdainfully. There's no one above fifth year present. 

"Let's do this, then," I say. 

"Yes, let me show your little club some new curses," Viktor says, grinning wickedly at me. "I'll even refrain from casting them silently to make things more fair and give your friends a chance to see." 

The club members make room for the two of us, and we face off against one another. I open with a _Protego_ , which stops Viktor's first curse, but he immediately follows up with a Dark Tendrils Curse. He's using the _serious_ spells here? Either that or he's just that confident in my ability. I think he's actually trying to kill me, though. 

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cast, sending a bolt of lightning at him. He had a shield up himself, but the force of my spell cracks right through it as though it weren't there. 

Viktor stumbles back, stunned, and his dark tentacles vanish. "You are more powerful than I gave you credit for, little boy," Viktor says. 

"If you want to use lethal spells, that's fine by me," I say. "Storm Army, if he kills me, cover it up and tell them that it was an unfortunate accident." 

"If he kills you, can I have your stuff?" Draco says. 

I snicker softly. "Do what you like," I say. "Viktor, shall we continue?" 

Viktor grins broadly. "Let us continue." 

The club members clear away more space and put up shields of their own to make sure nobody gets hit with any stray curses. Viktor and I duel viciously, dodging, blocking, and countering one another's curses and holding little back. My heart is pounding, my blood aflame with excitement. This is _great!_ Rarely have I been able to really push myself or test my dueling ability, with the tame, limited selection of approved spells allowed in the normal Dueling Club. 

The battle doesn't actually last all that long, though. Even though he's casting verbally, he's still way above my level and throwing out a lot of spells I don't recognize. I try to pay attention to catch what he's doing, but wind up trying to learn wand movements and incantations to the point where I forget to dodge, and it's over. 

* * *

I wake in the Gryffindor dorm. That was awesome. Even if I died. I cheerfully head to breakfast, and then to the dragon tapestry room to do it all over again. I write "Viktor: 1, Stormseeker: 0" on the blackboard. Everyone who isn't in the inner circle looks a little puzzled at that, but they don't comment on it. 

"Any spells but Unforgivables," I say. "Storm Army, if he kills me, tell them it was an accident. And I really don't care who gets my stuff." 

The second round goes better. I focus better, pay more attention to avoiding being killed by his spells than on learning what they are. I still managed to pick up a couple just by watching him, though. Never have I been more grateful for my talent with curses. The ones with complex movements, I've no hope of duplicating on short notice. However, the ones with simple movements are the ones likely to be fueled by intent and emotion. And most harmful curses have similar sorts of intent behind them. Anger, hate, rage. The will to _hurt_ someone. The desire to _kill_. 

" _Nevischio!_ " Viktor casts, and a localized storm of sleet rains down upon where I'm standing. 

" _Protego!_ " I cast, managing to stop from being bombarded with frozen bullets. It doesn't stop the air from becoming bitingly cold or the floor from turning into a slick sheet of ice, however. " _Thermos_ ," I mutter, counteracting the chilling effect and melting the ice at my feet. Then I look back at him with cold fury, reminded of the harsh mountain storms of Wishingsdale, and say, " _Nevischio!_ " 

Viktor stumbles back in shock as my own sleet storm rains down upon him. It wasn't as effective as his casting of the spell, but pretty good for a first attempt. After quickly dealing with it himself, he says, "Stop! Time-out! Let us speak for a moment." 

"What is it?" I ask, lowering my wand. 

"Where did you learn that spell?" Viktor asks. 

"From you," I say. "Just now." 

Viktor gapes at me. " _How?_ How could you figure out how to cast it just from watching me do it once?" 

"I'm good with curses," I say. "Especially anything storm related. I'm not called the Stormseeker for nothing." 

"I did not think they taught the Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Viktor says. 

"They don't," I say. "That hasn't stopped me from learning them anyway." 

"I should kill you for stealing my spell," Viktor says. "How did you cast it? You couldn't figure it out just from the wand movements!" 

"I know," I say. "I guessed at the proper mental state, thoughts, and intent." 

"You guessed," Viktor says, staring at me furiously. "You _guessed?_ It took me months to learn that spell and cast it properly! That's my family's private spell, passed down from father to son for centuries!" 

"My apologies," I say, giving a contrite bow. "I did not intend to infringe upon your family's honor." 

Viktor doesn't seem particularly mollified. I glance off to the side, and notice that most of the Dueling Club members are munching on popcorn. 

"Let us settle this in the dueling ring," Viktor demands. 

"Very well," I say. "We shall continue, then." 

" _Nevischio!_ " Viktor casts, and ice like daggers rains down upon me. This spell was cast much more forcefully than the last, and they punch straight through my shield, tear through my robes, pierce my body in a dozen places. 

I collapse to my knees, bleeding and shivering, and slump over until my face hits the floor. Let him finish it. I'm wounded, I'm dying, let this be over soon. 

" _Protego_ ," says Neville's voice. " _Episkey. Thermos._ " He's standing over me. He's protecting me. "You've won, Krum. You don't need to kill him." 

"Neville, no..." I rasp. 

"So, are you his second, now?" Viktor asks. "Will you continue the duel in his stead?" 

"Neville, don't die for me," I say. "Please." 

"There's no need for that," Neville says. "I'm just here to keep you from killing him. You've already won." 

"Potter, do you concede defeat?" Viktor demands. "Do you surrender?" 

I groan softly. Neville healed some of my wounds, but I still ache all over, and I'm still half frozen, even with the Warming Charm. "I surrender," I say quietly. 

Viktor strides up toward me, but Neville blocks his path. "I am not satisfied," Viktor says. "I demand restitution." 

"Oh, lay off it already, Krum," Draco says. "What the hell did you even cast that spell for if you were going to go spare if anyone else cast it? You _said_ you wanted to demonstrate some new curses for us." 

"He should not have been able to cast it," Viktor says. 

"Then you don't know the Stormseeker very well," Draco says. "He's a natural dark wizard. It takes him months sometimes to get even a simple charm down, but you show him a new curse, and he'll cast it right away." 

"I will not tolerate anyone outside of my family being able to cast that spell," Viktor says. 

"So," Blaise says. "Have you got a sister?" 

"Yes..." Viktor says. "Potter! You must marry my sister!" 

"What?" I say dumbly, my head spinning, still recovering from Viktor's curse. 

" _You will marry my sister_ , Potter," Viktor says. "Or I will kill you!" 

"What would your sister think of this?" I say, blinking slowly. 

"Stormseeker, just agree already," Draco says. 

"But..." I mutter weakly in protest. 

"I'm certain that my sister would be most pleased to hear that I've found her a good husband," Viktor says. "And she would be quite disappointed to hear that you'd rather die than marry her!" 

"Alright, alright!" I say quickly, slowly climbing to my feet. "Fine, I'll... marry your sister... what the Abyss..." 

How did this go from dueling to accidentally winding up betrothed? 

* * *

"You look like you've been through a war," Moody says at our 'detention' that evening. "What happened today?" 

"Dueling Club with Viktor Krum," I grumble. 

"I see," Moody says. "Got the better of you, did he?" 

"I must not have done too badly, since he demanded that I marry his sister," I say. 

"I think I heard something about that," Moody says with a snort. "Foolishness, if you ask me. No matter. On with our session. You're getting pretty good with the Killing Curse, and we're running low on vermin in the castle to eliminate. Do you want to start learning one of the other curses?" 

"I'd like to learn the Imperius Curse," I say. 

"Very well," Moody says. "I've got a fresh rat here for you to practice on." He pulls out a rodent and places it on the desk, where it looks around in confusion. "With this curse, you need to focus upon subjugating the target's will. You must make yourself their master. You must believe that you have every right to command them. The key emotion required is pride." 

"I think I can handle that," I say quietly. I'm even more uneasy about casting this spell than I was the Killing Curse, but I am determined to see this through. I have no idea where I might ever want to actually use the Imperius Curse, but I think I would rather know a spell and not need it, than need it and not know it. 

"Do you need a demonstration?" Moody asks. 

I shake my head. "I think I've got it," I say. "I think it might take some work to overcome my mental block about it, though. But I'm not backing out now." 

"A bit leery about using it after it was used on you?" Moody asks. 

"Something like that," I mutter. "I also dislike slavery in general." I snort softly. "But I'll get over it. I'm not letting that stop me." I peer at the confused rat, and try to focus my thoughts. I point my wand at it and say, " _Imperio!_ " 

There's no effect whatsoever. "What kind of pathetic magic was that?" Moody says. "You're a mighty wizard, and you can't subjugate the will of a mere rat? What, should I bring in a slug from the greenhouses instead? Would that be a low enough being to command?" 

"I can _do_ this, damn it," I growl, gritting my teeth. I fix my gaze upon the rat. I am the Stormseeker, the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood! Of course I can do this! " _Imperio!_ " 

This time, the spell actually fires at least. For a moment, I can feel the rat's tiny will. Small, afraid. I can't help but feel sorry for the poor thing. At least it wasn't here for the Killing Curse practice. I lose hold of the spell after only a second. 

"Come on, I can do it..." I murmur. My body is trembling. There's tears stinging my eyes. But I ignore that. " _Imperio!_ " Nothing. 

"Calm down, Potter," Moody says. "You're not getting anywhere like this. You can't cast a spell if you're afraid to cast it." 

"I can do it..." I whisper. My knees are going weak. I sit heavily in the chair. 

"Maybe you should just pass on this spell," Moody says. "It might not be something you'd ever be cut out for. And when are you ever going to actually use it, anyway?" 

" _I will learn it_ ," I say fiercely. 

"Determined, are you?" Moody says. "Why are you so determined to learn something you hate so much?" 

"Because... because..." I stammer. I take a deep breath and try to focus to calm myself. I am the eye of the storm. No one should be seeing me in such a state. "Because I want to learn everything there is to learn." 

"That's the sort of answer I'd expect from a Ravenclaw," Moody says. "But you're a Gryffindor, lad." 

"I could have been a Ravenclaw," I say with a shrug. "I could have been in any of the houses." 

"Yeah, why do you _really_ want to learn it?" Moody asks. "Planning to be the next Dark Lord yourself?" 

"I'm not evil, damn it!" I snap. "But the Ministry is useless and corrupt! I will tear down this world and rebuild it better!" I pause. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that." 

Moody snorts in amusement. "At least you're finally being honest." 

I sigh and look at the floor. "Well, at least you haven't dosed me with Veratiserum yet, unlike Lockhart." 

"Whatever happened to Lockhart, anyway?" Moody asks. 

"He's gone," I say simply. 

"That's all you have to say on that, is it?" Moody says. "Very well. Shall we continue the lesson?" 

"Still willing to teach me?" I say. "Am I not the very thing you're supposed to fight?" 

"Of course not," Moody says. "You're a good person, Potter. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking otherwise." 

I continue the practice. I still don't manage to successfully cast the spell very well, but I think I'm getting closer. I'm able to hold control of the rat for a few seconds, although I don't manage to actually make it do anything. When our time is up, I head out and start Scourifying random hallways to clear out my wand again. 

"What _are_ you doing?" Ron asks, coming up behind me. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I reply. " _Scourgify_." A statue looks a little cleaner. 

"Alright, more importantly, _why_?" Ron wonders. 

"Saving the house-elves some work," I say, shrugging. 

Ron shakes his head. "I don't know why you and Hermione even bother," Ron says. "House-elves love to work. They like being enslaved!" 

I spin around and pin a glare upon Ron. "Do they, now?" I say. "Have you been paying attention to _nothing_ Rispy has told you?" 

"Well, he's weird," Ron says. "I've never seen an unhappy house-elf before." 

"You make yourself out to be the good guy, and yet you support institutionized slavery of an entire species?" I say. 

"Oh, come on," Ron says. "Don't try to make _yourself_ out to be the good guy for wanting something so ridiculous as house-elf rights!" 

Rage swirls in my mind. I will not allow this _weasel_ to provoke me, damn it. "Go on, Ron, before I hex you or something," I say. I turn away and move on to clean a painting frame. 

A hex whizzes over my shoulder and strikes the painting. The lady in the picture squeals and flees out of the frame. I spin around, wand in my hand in an instant and pointing it straight at Ron. 

"What did I tell you about that, boy?" Moody says, limping down the corridor. "I said _never do that again_." 

"He threatened me!" Ron exclaims. 

"I'll do more than threaten you if you keep acting like an arse," I say. 

"Do you need another lesson, Weasley?" Moody asks dangerously. 

Ron looks uneasily to the aged professor. "No, sir," he says after a moment, lowering his wand. 

"But I'm told I'm supposed to give you detentions, not transfigure you and bounce you around like you deserve," Moody says. "So have a detention, then. Come to my office next Saturday after dinner." 

The same time as my lessons? I glance in alarm at Moody, but he ignores my look. What is he planning? He doesn't mean for me to actually practice on Ron, does he? I'm not nearly ready for that! 

"Fine," Ron says, and stalks off. 

"Professor?" I quietly say to Moody. 

"Go on, now," Moody says. "It's almost curfew for you." 

"Yes, sir," I say, and head off toward Gryffindor Tower, cleaning along the way, but my thoughts are still wrapped up in just whatever it is Moody intends. He could have given Ron any other day for detention if that wasn't what he meant to do. My stomach is churning. I think I'm going to be sick just from the idea. 

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this spell after all. But damn it all, I'm not going to give up now. I'm not backing out. 

* * *

"What, we both have detention with Professor Moody today?" Ron says as he arrives at Moody's office. 

I look at him with a carefully neutral expression, but I don't trust myself to say anything. I glance over to Moody questioningly. Is he really going to put me through this? 

"Weasley, you're here to assist me in teaching Potter a lesson," Moody says, then turns to look at me. "Can you stomach it?" 

My heart is racing. He's testing my nerve, that's what he's doing, clearly. I give a nod, and say, "Let's get on with this." 

"Hah," Ron says. " _You're_ going to learn a lesson--" 

Moody waves his wand, and the door to his office slams shut. Another flick relieves Ron of his wand. "Weasley, I've had about enough of your remarks. Now, you're going to help me teach Potter learn the Imperius Curse." 

" _What?_ " Ron says, eyes bulging in shock. "But... but that's illegal!" 

"And your memories will be modified afterward," Moody says. "All _you_ are going to remember is that you spent an uneventful hour copying 'I will not attack people from behind' onto a roll of parchment." 

"You can't do this to me!" Ron says. "And you're teaching Potter dark magic in secret? What kind of an Auror are you? Unforgivables, even!" 

"Be glad we're past the Avada Kedavra practice," I say lightly. 

"So, Potter, think you can pull this off?" Moody says. "You felt sorry for the rat. Do you feel sorry for the weasel, too?" 

I look over at Ron, who is thoroughly panicking at the moment. A boy I called my friend once, in another life. A boy who could have been my friend in this life as well, if it hadn't been for starting off with idiotic prejudices. But I could change all that. I could make him my friend again. I could make him the friend he was supposed to be to begin with. He should have been one of my loyal followers... 

" _Imperio!_ " I cast. I can feel it now, Ron's terrified mind. _Relax, I won't hurt you_ , I tell him mentally. 

He's fighting it. I can feel him trying to fight it, to shake me off, to expel me from his mind. I only manage to hold on for a few seconds longer before I lose it. "Why are you doing this?" Ron says, panting softly. "I knew it... I knew you intended to be the next Dark Lord..." He doesn't have his wand, but he makes to move toward me, fist raised. 

" _Imperio!_ " I shout. _Don't attack me_ , I think at him hard. 

Ron freezes where he is, and lowers his fist. But I'm losing my hold again just as quickly, and not just because he's trying to fight it. Doubts weaken my grip. He's a good person. He's just misguided. I shouldn't be doing this to him. My control shatters again. 

"I can't believe you're doing this," Ron says, then turns to Moody. "I can't believe _you're_ helping him! This is a horrible, vile, evil thing to be doing!" 

"I have good reason for what I'm doing, Weasley," Moody says. "Can you say the same? Potter, stop doubting yourself. You have every right to demand the obedience of this vermin." 

I can't really argue with that. "Yes, sir," I say quietly. I'm buzzing with the feeling of dark magic at the moment. It's always feels so _good_ to cast these spells. I point my wand at Ron again. " _Imperio!_ " 

I am the Stormseeker. I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood, descended from the line of elven kings. Why should I not have the loyalty of this peasant? And yet, I would rather have it by choice. He chose to turn against me. He chose to be my rival. I should respect his free will, even if I disagree with his choices. I cannot enslave another being like this. 

My spell breaks, and I sit down heavily in the chair. Tears sting my eyes, and I'm shuddering with sobs. 

"What, disappointed that you can't get the spell to work, Stormseeker?" Ron says. 

"Ron, shut up," I say. "Unless you're _trying_ to make me justify doing this to you." 

"Don't tell me that a dark wizard like you has doubts about being evil," Ron replies. 

"I am _not_ evil!" I snap. 

"Could have fooled me," Ron says. 

Then I have a bit of an epiphany. It doesn't matter if I _really_ feel like I deserve obedience and loyalty, anymore than it matters if I'm currently happy in order to cast a Patronus. It's just the mental state needed to make the spell function. I'm getting hung up on irrelevant things here. 

I try casting it a few more times, with more focus, more force. It's getting more difficult, however, as he's actually learning how to fight it. Maybe going up against someone who can barely cast it at all helped him in figuring that out. 

"I'm sick of sitting here having to submit to this bullshit," Ron spits. 

"Then don't," I say. "Fight it! Make your own damned choice and never look back! If you're so weak that you can't keep even me out, then you'd deserve to be nothing but an unwitting minion! _Imperio!_ " _Dance like a chicken_ , I tell him. _Dance!_

Ron's arms come up for a moment, and then he shouts, "No!" 

Moody chuckles softly, and says, "Alright, I think that's enough of this. _Obliviate!_ " Ron's eyes glaze over, and Moody hands him back his wand and cancels the spells over the door. "Run along now, lad. And don't let me catch you attacking your fellow students from behind again." 

"Yes, sir," Ron says, and leaves the office quickly. 

"So, doing better, were you?" Moody asks. 

"I think I managed to break past my mental block, at least," I say. 

"Good," Moody says. "Go on now. Be back here next week, same time." 

"Can we make it Sunday instead?" I ask. Next Saturday will be the final day of the full moon. 

"Fine," Moody says, not even bothering to ask why.


	67. Dragon Master

It's almost the full moon before I get a reply back from the headmistress of the Salem Witches' Institute. 

"Dear Mr. Potter," she writes. "This is most irregular and unexpected, but I would be delighted to participate in such an esteemed event. I will be honored to consider you to be one of my students this year. Do not be put off by the name of our fine school. We have been co-ed for over a century now. I will arrive on November 21st, and I will bring one of our uniforms for you to wear as well. Sincerely, Susan Lawson, Headmistress of the Salem Witches' Institute." 

I pass this message along to Dumbledore and the other adults involved in the tournament. 

Karkaroff is notably displeased by this turn of events. "I had been hoping that we would not also have to involve a new colony school in our ancient and noble event," Karkaroff says. 

"They haven't been colonies in quite some time," I point out. 

"I, for one, will be delighted to play host to Miss Lawson as well," Dumbledore says. "Let it not be said that we are giving Hogwarts an unfair advantage." 

"If the Salem Witches' Institute were to be participating, surely they would have sent someone more qualified, regardless," Madame Maxine says. 

"Whatever they might have done is irrelevant," I say. "This is how things stand now, and this is the situation that we must deal with." 

"Dumbledore, do you allow all of your students to mouth off to you in such a disrespectful way?" Karkaroff says. 

"Whatever," I say. "I'm going to lunch." 

* * *

"You look like you haven't slept in days," Moody comments when I come into 'detention' after the full moon. 

"Slytherin parties," I say absently. They'll cover for me without question. 

This week, I have no trouble putting the Imperius Curse upon the rat. After having to do it on _Ron_ , this seems like nothing. And I'm also entirely too tired to be second guessing myself at the moment. You'd think that would weaken the spell, but it doesn't exactly do anything to my will and stubbornness. 

Headmistress Susan Lawson arrives in a much more sedate manner than the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations -- by broomstick. She's a middle-aged witch, perhaps a bit younger than McGonagall. The short-cropped red hair underneath her pointed hat bears some streaks of silver in it. 

"So, you're Harry Potter," Lawson says. "I've brought your uniform here for you, if you want it." 

"Sure," I say. "Got to look the part, right?" 

"I must say, I never expected I'd get the chance to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, even as a judge," Lawson says. "When I was in school, I dreamed of being the Triwizard champion, but it was already discontinued by that point. I went to Hogwarts myself, you know. I was a Ravenclaw. Which house are you in?" 

"Gryffindor," I reply. "Although I hang out with the Slytherins more." 

"Ah," Lawson says. "I might have wound up in Slytherin myself, if it hadn't been for the whole 'filthy Mudblood' thing. They didn't take too kindly to me. But I showed them. Muggleborn or no, best witch in my year." 

I chuckle softly in amusement. "Funny," I say. "I've managed to convince Slytherin house that a friend of mine is actually Ravenclaw's secret heir." 

Lawson snickers softly. "Clever, very clever." 

"So if you went to Hogwarts, how did you ever wind up being the Headmistress of an American school?" I ask. 

"Well, I was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts one year," Lawson says. "Wound up with a bit of an incident by the end of the year and had to leave the country for a while. By the time things died down, I'd already settled into a teaching position at the Salem Witches' Institute. It's good to be back, at least for a bit, though." 

That evening, Padfoot comes up to me after dinner and barks at me, then tugs at my robes with his teeth. 

"Alright, boy, I'm coming," I say. I'd been hoping to get to bed early and catch up a bit on lost sleep, but if Padfoot is acting like this, it's probably something important. 

Padfoot looks at me plaintively for a moment, and then covers his eyes with a paw. 

"Ah, I see," I say. I pull out the invisibility cloak and put it over myself. "Better?" 

Padfoot barks, and then trots off. He leads me out of the castle and across the grounds, toward the Forbidden Forest. At least if anyone sees him loping around by himself, they'll just think the dog is out for a walk, to relieve himself, or something. 

Then, when we're out in the forest, he seems to be cautioning me to approach slowly. There ahead, I see movement. Something _big_. Merlin, _dragons!_ Full-grown adults, and four of them! What a magnificent sight. I find myself grinning like a fool and admiring the sight of them. 

Padfoot lets out a low growl, getting my attention and drawing me out of my reverie. Ah, there's Karkaroff, checking out the dragons, it looks like. I also spot Hagrid with Madame Maxine. I have to wonder if they're going to tell their champions about it. Is anyone going to tell Cedric? I kind of feel sorry for him. I don't think anyone's liable to want to bother cheating on his behalf. 

When we get back to the Slytherin dorm, Sirius tells me, "Dragons, Harry!" 

"Awesome, isn't it?" I say. 

"This isn't a joke!" Sirius says. "They're doubtless here for the tournament. Dragons are _dangerous!_ " 

"I hope we don't have to kill them," I say. "I'd hate to hurt a dragon..." 

"You... never mind," Sirius says, snorting softly. "I doubt it. They probably just want you to get past them. They looked like they were nesting mothers... they'll be _vicious_." 

"Oh," I say. "That's awfully reckless... what if the eggs get smashed? Poor little dragonlings." 

"Look, Harry," Sirius says. "You'd better be careful. Don't even think about using something as simple as a Stunner on them. It can take up to a dozen Stunning Spells to put down a dragon. Their weak point is their eyes. Try something like the Conjunctivitis Curse instead. You know that one, right?" 

"Yeah," I say. 

"I know it won't really stop you," Sirius says. "But I'd rather not see you get killed here. Alright?" 

"I'll try not to," I say. "I can't make any promises, though." 

The next morning, I catch Cedric coming into the Great Hall for breakfast. "Cedric!" I say. "Can we speak for a moment? In private? It's about the tournament." 

"Sure, Harry," Cedric says. He waves his friends along and says, "Go on ahead, I'll be with you in a moment." Once they leave, he asks me, "What is it?" I'm a little surprised. He's a nice guy. He's not being nasty to me. 

"The first task is dragons," I say quietly. 

"Dragons?" Cedric says, eyes widening. "Are you sure?" 

"I just found out myself last night," I say. "I saw them myself. And it would greatly surprise me if Viktor and Fleur didn't mysteriously find out beforehand as well." 

"Why are you telling me this?" Cedric asks. 

"I have no desire to see anyone die in this competition," I say. "And if I can't win on level ground, then I don't deserve to win." 

"Well, alright then," Cedric says. "You're... more honorable than people give you credit for, then. Thanks for the warning." 

* * *

I'm excited and nervous as the day of the first task arrives. Ron even cheerfully told me the day before the task that Trelawny said I'd be eaten by a dragon, burn to death, and be impaled on spikes. I'd already figured that out. Maybe I should pay more attention to Trelawny's predictions, so I know what to look out for. 

I just hope the curse Sirius suggested does the trick. I'd rather not hurt a dragon, but I do need to get past today one way or another. Students jeer at me as I head to breakfast about how I'm probably going to use the Dark Arts to get through the task. They're probably right, and I don't care. 

And then, after breakfast, it's straight off to the task. Ludo Bagman gives a quick explanation of how we'll be picking models from a bag that indicate which thing we're about to face, and that we need to collect a golden egg. Then, as we pull forth the little models of the dragons, I note that neither Fleur nor Viktor looks surprised at what they draw forth. So, they were told ahead of time after all. I receive a rather vicious looking Hungarian Horntail, and I'll be going last. 

I wish I could actually watch what the other competitors are doing, rather than sitting in a tent sweating and waiting my turn. I do a last minute rundown over my spells, just in case the curse Sirius suggested doesn't do the trick. 

And then, I'm outside, going face to face with the glorious black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail about this way and that, clearly looking none too happy to be here. 

" _Conjunctivitis!_ " I cast. The dragon's eyes close, and I try to approach. 

The tail moves, whipping at me rapidly. I can't get out of the way fast enough. Long, nasty spikes pierce my body. Pain... it's over in an instant. 

* * *

I wake with a groan. Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I mentally tally 'Horntail: 1, Stormseeker: 0', and get ready for the task again. 

" _Protego!_ " I cast. " _Conjunctivitis!_ " 

The dragon's eyes swell shut again, and this time, when the tail comes swinging at me, I flatten myself against the ground rapidly to avoid it. But then a burst of impossibly hot fire melts through my shield and sears me to a crisp. 

* * *

Horntail: 2, Stormseeker: 0. I'm off to a great start at this tournament. 

Alright, I need to avoid the tail _and_ the fire. " _Protego!_ " I cast, for whatever good it will do. It might give me another second to get out of the way of the fire, at least. What other spells might I use? " _Flipendo! Leviosa! Mobilidraconis!_ " 

These don't do anything other than annoy the dragon. I tumble out of the way of a jet of flames. 

" _Accio_ golden egg!" I cast. Nothing. It's not doing to work with the dragon still sitting on the nest. I need to get her to move somehow. I rush forward to try to see if I can get at the nest. 

An enormous, taloned foot rips me open. Pain... bleeding... I think my insides are falling out... blackness mercifully takes me. 

* * *

Horntail: 3, Stormseeker: 0. Am I really that much of an idiot? Why did I think any of that would work? 

Okay, avoid the tail, fire, claws... Abyss, just avoid the dragon altogether if I can, _all_ of it is deadly! It would help if I got anything other than the Hungarian Horntail. But I'm the last one to pull from the bag, and I have no way to influence what the others might get. 

What I need is some sort of distraction... " _Expecto Patronum!_ " I cast, thinking firmly of the rainbow after the storm. A silvery duck springs forth from my wand and flies up into the air. It can't actually do anything to the dragon, but maybe it will get her attention. 

The dragon watches the duck flying about her head in puzzlement, and then starts snapping at the Patronus. Yes, come on, chase after it. Move a little more. Just a little more! 

Pain tears through my body. Damn it. I was paying attention to the dragon's front and forgot about her back end. I've been impaled on her tail spikes again. I die once more. 

* * *

Horntail: 4, Stormseeker: 0, I think bitterly. This isn't working. And the repeated deaths are starting to wear at me. I can still keep going, though. I'm not about to give up now. 

" _Locus Timoris!_ " I cast at the nest. There! It worked! She's suddenly afraid of her own eggs! " _Accio--_ " 

The dragon's head swings down and practically rips me in half with her fangs. She's not stupid. I die again. 

* * *

Horntail: 5, Stormseeker, 0. I feel like I was _so close_ that time. But I probably don't have many more tries left. I pull out one of the Wideye Potions that Snape gave me for the full moon, and drink it down. I need to stay awake and alert, or I'm not going to get anywhere. 

" _Conjunctivitis!_ " I cast, blinding the dragon. I stay on the move, and cast, " _Locus Timoris!_ " She lifts herself off of the nest. 

The dragon mother spits blazing fire at the spot where I was standing just a moment before. She can't see me, but she can certainly _hear_ me. 

Dodging out of the way of the fire, I cast " _Accio_ golden egg!" The egg flies into the air and zips toward me. 

Just as I'm about to catch the fake egg from the air, the dragon's spiked tail slams into me again. 

* * *

Horntail: 6, Stormseeker: 0. I keep forgetting about that damned tail. So close! And yet now, I hardly think that I can move quickly enough to dodge out of the way of the dragon's fire. Damn it. I down a Wideye Potion again and make ready for the task. 

" _Nevischio!_ " I cast furiously, thinking of the icy mountain storms of my homeland. Sleet rains down upon the dragon, pelting her scales with dagger-like icicles that would rip right through the skin of many lesser beings. 

All the spell does is anger the dragon. She roars and expels a gush of flame from her mouth straight at me. My limbs are tired and sluggish, and I can't dodge out of the way fast enough. At least I feel the flesh painfully melting off my bones for only a moment before it's over. 

* * *

Horntail: 7, Stormseeker: 0, I tally up wearily. I should be useless by now, if the last time I died so frequently was any indication. But my magic is stronger now and more well-developed, I suppose. I don't know if that's much of a relief, though. At least if I passed out and missed the task, I'd survive today. But so long as I have a choice about it, I'm not backing out. 

I'm running short on ideas, and getting into last resorts now. If I had thought of the Revulsion Curse idea while I was still fresh, I might have been able to pull that off. Too late now. I need simpler, more powerful magic. 

" _Imperio!_ " I cast. I didn't want to have to try this, but nothing else is working. 

I feel the dragon's mind. A mighty, powerful being. But my will is strong, and I'm not about to give up. _I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood_ , I tell her. _I am the descendant of royalty. Bow down to me, dragon._

I'm dimly aware that the crowd is probably shocked by this sight, but between exhaustion and a dark magic high, I really don't care. The dragon is lowering her head to me obediently. It worked. It actually worked. I succeeded at mentally dominating a _dragon!_

_Do not attack me. I mean no harm to you or your young_ , I assure her. _But there is a false egg that has been deviously hidden within your nest. Give it to me._

Slowly, the dragon moves aside from her nest, peering down at the eggs. Carefully, she nudges the golden one with her snout, and rolls it out of the nest and over toward me. Once the artificial egg is rolling across the ground toward me, she wastes no time in planting herself firmly back on top of her nest. 

I reach down to pick up the golden egg clumsily. Tired as I am, I wind up dropping it a few times before tucking it away in my arms. 

I walk away from the dragon, my mind full of haze. I just want to settle in somewhere and take a nice, long rest. Preferably somewhere quiet and private, where I can take a Dream Sweet. I realize dimly that I forgot to take a Wideye Potion this time. It's a wonder I can even move at all. 

I can vaguely hear an argument taking place somewhere on the edge of my awareness. "He used an Unforgivable Curse! We need to arrest him!" 

"He used it on a dragon, not a person. There's nothing against the law about using Unforgivables on non-humans." 

"We should certainly penalize him for publicly using such dark magic!" 

"It was an impressive feat of magic, nonetheless." I think that voice is Susan Lawson. "Not many people could have pulled that off." 

"Excuse me," I say quietly. "Excuse me. I completed the task. May I pass out now?" 

"Harry?" say several voices in concern, right before I slip into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Dragonfire scorches me again and again. I'm impaled on spikes over and over. Claws rip at me, teeth tear at me, and in the background of it all, I can hear my cousins screaming as they die. I can't escape. I can't get away. Everything is hopeless. And in the end, the Dementors are coming for me... 

I wake, screaming. 

"Calm down, Harry," Madam Pomfrey says. It looks like I'm in the hospital wing. "It's alright. You're suffering from severe magical exhaustion. Casting... that spell... obviously took a lot out of you. Here, I'll give you a Dreamless Sleep potion and let you rest some more." 

It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Beyond that, I have no idea what's going on. I take the potion she gives me without question and go back to sleep. 

* * *

When I wake again, I see Susan Lawson sitting at my bedside, quietly reading a book. She glances up when I stir, and says, "Ah, you're awake. Feeling better, Harry?" 

"Yeah," I say numbly. "What happened?" 

"You passed out after the first task," Lawson says. "Magical exhaustion. Madam Pomfrey was gracious enough to let me stay at your side after the judging. Merlin knows someone had to. The rest of them were all trying to debate on _arresting_ you, the fools." 

"I'm not aware that I did anything wrong," I say. 

"They were being needlessly judgmental," Lawson says. "At least, aside from Dumbledore, who said as little as possible about it, and Karkaroff, who gave you almost full marks, purely out of spite I'm sure. _I_ gave you full marks, of course. Whatever they might say, that was quite an impressive bit of spell work." 

"I was just trying to survive," I say. "That had the best chance of working..." 

"Of course," Lawson says. "You feel up to talking to anyone else right now? Dumbledore wanted to be notified when you woke up. He wanted to speak with you in private, I understand." 

"I don't know that I feel up to talking to Dumbledore right now, but I suppose I'd better," I say, sighing. "Might as well get it over with." 

Lawson leaves, and after a few minutes, Dumbledore comes in. He waves his wand, and says, "Lexen, that was an extremely rash thing you did out there." 

"Dumbledore," I say. "Please don't judge me for that. I _just died seven times_." 

Dumbledore's eyes widen a bit, and he says, "Regardless, all you have done is substantiate the rumors of you being a dark wizard. Some wanted you removed from the tournament. Some wanted you expelled from Hogwarts. Some even wanted you sent to Azkaban." 

I snort softly. "If there were more people who could cast the Imperius Curse on dragons, they'd be hired as dragon handlers in an instant. None of this nonsense about hitting the poor things with a dozen Stunners!" 

"That may well be so," Dumbledore concedes. "Still, you gave us quite the time. Thankfully, it seems that no one _seriously_ wanted you removed from the tournament, as if you could be in the first place if you were actually Harry Potter, except for the students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. And they are not the ones making these decisions." 

"Meh," I say. "They already hated me to begin with. I did what I had to do to survive. That was a last resort, believe me. I'd already tried everything else I could think of." 

"Lexen, where did you even learn to cast the Imperius Curse in the first place?" Dumbledore asks. 

"I'll tell you how it really came about, because I owe you that much," I say. Or at least, because I can't think of a lie that he'd actually believe. "I convinced Professor Moody to teach me how to cast the Unforgivable Curses. I kind of forced his hand... told him if he didn't agree to teach me, I would go and practice them on my own, unsupervised." 

Dumbledore frowns deeply. "I'm very disappointed in you for pushing Alastor into a corner like that. Why did you even want to learn the Unforgivable Curses in the first place?" 

"They're powerful magic," I say. "And I want to learn everything I can possibly get my hands on. You know where I'm from, Dumbledore. You know what I'm going to have to go up against at some point. This world's laws don't apply in Torn Elkandu. And if the Unforgivable Curses can help me fight against the dark wizards who threaten my family, then _I will use them_." 

"I can understand that, I suppose," Dumbledore says reluctantly. 

"You know I'm not the sort of person who would go around murdering and torturing people for fun," I say. "Trust me, alright? I would never use this sort of magic without good reason." 

"Very well," Dumbledore says with a heavy sigh. "But you realize what you've done in this world, don't you? You know how people are going to look at you from here on out?" 

"I know," I say. "I'll deal with it. Life goes on." 

"You can't dismiss the consequences that easily," Dumbledore says. 

"I'm not dismissing anything," I say. "But dwelling on it won't change anything, will it? I regret enough of my mistakes as it is without regreting the things that were not mistakes. It wasn't my first choice on how to complete the task, but it was the one that worked." 

"I can't let this slide, you know," Dumbledore says. "Not something like this. I'm going to have to punish you in some way." 

"So be it, then," I say with a shrug. "Are you going to give me detentions for casting an Unforgivable Curse?" 

"No, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "I'm going to have to expel you." 

" _What?_ " I cry. 

"I'm sorry, Lexen," Dumbledore says. 

I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, stunned speechless, as Dumbledore leaves. _Expelled?_ From Hogwarts? This is a disaster! What am I going to do now? There's still so many things I need to learn! 

Susan Lawson comes in again. "I just heard the news, Harry," she says. "Expelled? That old fool... Well, he can't expel you, you know. You're not a student of Hogwarts this year at all. You're a student of the Salem Witches' Institute. And _I'm_ not going to expel you." 

I breathe a sigh of relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," I say. "But what about next year?" 

"If he hasn't gotten this fool notion out of his head by that point, you're more than welcome to come join us back on the other side of the pond," Lawson says. "You can even bring your friends, if they want to come." 

"It might be for the best," I say. "I seem not to be very popular around here lately." 

"And because of the tournament, which you conveniently can't get out of, you'll still have to stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the year regardless," Lawson says. 

"I'd better get used to wearing my new uniform," I say.


	68. Balls and Chains

Apparently, I'd been out for three days following the first task. I manage to convince Madam Pomfrey to let me out of the hospital wing the next day. It's Monday. There will be classes. I'll still be going to classes, right? The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that are here are attending classes at Hogwarts, after all. 

I head down to the Great Hall for breakfast and take a seat at the Slytherin table with my friends. 

"Stormseeker!" Draco says. "You're finally awake!" 

Neville and Hermione look at me a little uneasily. I suppose I can understand why. 

"That was incredible!" Blaise says. "Where did you learn how to do that?" 

"Did I hear right that you were _expelled?_ " Theodore asks. 

I sigh, wave my wand, and mutter, " _Muffliato_. That wasn't incredible. That was a last resort. I died seven times. Seven. Times." 

"Oh, Merlin," Neville murmurs. 

"But, you used an Unforgivable Curse," Hermione says. "Where _did_ you learn that?" She looks at me intently. "It was Moody, wasn't it. Has he been teaching you _Unforgivables_ in those fake detentions you've been having?" 

"Hermione, always the perceptive one," I say, chuckling. 

"She's right?" Draco says. "How did you ever manage to convince him to teach you?" 

"It doesn't matter," I say. "Just please don't you lot go pestering him about it yourselves. He'd kill me if he found out this got out." 

"Why would you even _want_ to learn Unforgivables?" Neville asks in a small voice. 

" _Sedder_ ," I half snarl. 

"I... suppose I can understand that," Neville says softly. "If there were anyone I would be willing to use them on, myself, it would be... people who hurt my family..." 

"Still," Hermione says. "Unforgivables! Um... if you don't want us to ask Moody to teach us, maybe you could tutor us yourself instead?" 

I blink at her. "Are you protesting something and then asking to learn it in the same breath?" 

"Well, I never turned down an opportunity to learn something," Hermione says. "Of course, using them against a living, intelligent being would be bad, but you did very well to show how useful they could be against that dragon..." 

I just have to laugh softly, and say, "Hermione... never change, alright?" 

I'm still tinged with a touch of melancholy. Everything hasn't really had a chance to sink in yet. But at least I know I have true friends who won't turn on me in an instant. 

"You'll still be coming to classes with us, right?" Blaise asks. 

"I still need to compete in the tournament," I say. "They can't turn me away from that." 

"Will you actually be going away next year, though?" Theodore asks. 

I sigh. "Probably. I'm trying not to look that far ahead yet, though. I still need to survive this year." 

"If you do, I'm going with you," Draco says. 

"America might be interesting," Blaise says lightly. 

"Well, if you and Draco go, _I'm_ certainly not going to stay here," Hermione says. 

"I think my Gran might be disappointed if I left..." Neville says. 

"We can worry about it next summer," I say with a small smile. "You guys really are great, you know that? Do what you like. I won't judge you. I just wish I could take you all with me when I move on to the next universe..." 

"That would be amazing," Hermione says. 

I go through classes like normal that week. The teachers all give me nasty looks, when they deign to look at me at all. Well, aside from Snape, who doesn't look any nastier than usual. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for your ineptitude, Potter," Snape says, absently passing by my table and seeing me tiredly and clumsily cutting herbs. 

"Sir, I'm not in Gryffindor anymore," I point out. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for arguing with me," Snape says. 

"He's not in Gryffindor anymore!" Ron says. "He got expelled! Quit taking points from us for his actions already!" 

"Then I will take points from Gryffindor for _your_ actions, Weasley," Snape says. "Five points from Gryffindor for talking back to me." 

Most of the students won't talk to me anymore, except for the Slytherins, my inner circle, and a handful of others from Storm Army. And, for some reason, Cedric and his friends. 

"Harry!" Sirius says when I meet up with him in the Slytherin dorm on Tuesday evening. "What in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle is going on? What's this I hear about you using the Imperius Curse? And being _expelled_? Tell me this is all just another horrible rumor." 

"Sorry, I won't lie to you," I say. Well, not about that, anyway. 

"What was wrong with the spell I suggested?" Sirius says. "Harry, the _Imperius_? Really?" 

I sigh. "It was the only thing I could find that would work." I slump down onto the couch. "I'm sorry. I wasn't exactly trying to die or anything. I died seven times! By that point, I was desperate. I used the Imperius as a last resort. Believe me, I tried everything else I could think of first... Please don't judge me for that. I'd hate to lose you..." 

"Oh, Harry," Sirius says. "Of course I'm not going to turn on you for that! I didn't realize it was that bad..." 

"And yeah, I've been expelled," I say. "I have to stay for the tournament, of course, but next year, assuming I survive this year, I'll be heading over to the States. Come with me, please? It'll be a good opportunity for you to start a new life..." 

"A new life, huh..." Sirius says. "Well, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad. And I can hardly abandon my dear godson, can I?" 

At least Sirius hadn't been upset or anything to hear about my unexpected betrothal. He just said something vague along the lines of what a man's got to do, whatever that's supposed to mean. 

Rita Skeeter's articles about me in the _Daily Prophet_ have stepped up to another level of nastiness. As if she didn't already sound convinced that I'm the next Dark Lord before this. It's not bad enough that she goes after me, however, but she's started taking jabs at my friends as well. _That_ makes my blood boil. She can say what she likes about _me_ , but how _dare_ she go after my friends? 

"That was an awfully bold move, Potter," Moody tells me in his office after his class that Thursday. "Still, the fact that you _successfully_ dominated a dragon speaks well for you." 

"So, will our lessons be continuing?" I ask. 

"You still need practice, don't you?" Moody says. "And there's one more Unforgivable you haven't learned yet. We can start on that next term, if you think you're ready for it by that point." 

My blood chills at that thought, but all I say is, "Yes, sir." That's not a curse I'm looking forward to learning. There's no good reason for me to learn it. And yet, I've gone this far. I might as well go all the way. This path has already led me into dark places. 

"Good," Moody says. "And you'll be here Saturday for 'detention' as well?" 

"Can we get away with calling them detentions, still?" I say. "I'm not officially a Hogwarts student anymore." 

"Talk to your headmistress," Moody says, shrugging. "She seemed the sort to appreciate the merits of any form of magic." 

On Saturday, the Dueling Club group is smaller than it usually is. I suppose that's to be expected. I don't dare bring up the subject of actually teaching Unforgivables unless it's just me and the inner circle, however, and they don't push the subject yet. Maybe it can wait until next term. I'm not certain that I really _want_ to teach them. I'm not sure that I'm cut out to be much of a teacher to begin with, never mind teach things like _this_. 

I'm sleeping in on Sunday morning. Seeing that I've no reason to remain in the Gryffindor dorms any longer, I've moved into the third year Slytherin boys' dorm. When I wake, I jump in surprise at the sight of a tall, lanky woman sitting on the end of my bed. Who is she? How did she get past my Revulsion Curse? No, wait, I haven't been bothering to cast it since I moved in. I trust the Slytherins and don't feel the need to be quite so paranoid around them. 

"So, you're finally awake," she says in an accent that marks her as likely being with Durmstrang. "I was starting to wonder if you were even going to bother waking up before noon. Your dog has been glaring at me like he'd bite me if I disturbed you." 

I peer up at her in alarm. She has brown hair and ice blue eyes, and a nasty curse scar disfigures part of her face. She wears a wand holster on her wrist, and is dressed in a heavy, pale blue robe. 

"Who _are_ you?" I demand. 

"Ah, right. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Katrina Krum. You know, your betrothed." 

"Oh," I say dumbly. 

Katrina cocks her head and looks at me critically. "Although when Viktor told me he'd come across someone willing to marry me, I didn't expect that he meant a _little kid_." 

My skin crawls and my bones ache suddenly. Damn it, I didn't _mean_ to change my age like that. Now that the ability has awakened, it keeps asserting itself all on its own. 

"What was that?" Katrina says, looking at me strangely. 

"Um... I'm a sort of Metamorphmagus or something like that," I say. "I can change my age at will." 

"Oh," Katrina says. "I see. Well, I suppose that's not so bad, then." She hops off the end of the bed and stalks into the middle of the room. "Still, even if you can change your age, I doubt you'd be at all a worthy husband for me." 

"It wasn't exactly my idea," I say, climbing out of bed. 

"Obviously not," Katrina says. "I doubt you even have a girlfriend, never mind have ever gotten laid. Have you even kissed a girl before?" 

"Er, I've kissed a _boy_ before..." I say sheepishly. 

"Oh, that speaks so well for you," Katrina says, rolling her eyes. She pulls out her wand and says, "Alright, if you're so great, then, prove that you're worthy for me! Duel me!" 

"Well, alright then..." I say uneasy. This wasn't really how I'd intended the morning to start out. Actually, I'd intended to start the morning out at lunch. I face off with Katrina in my pajamas, pulling out my wand. 

" _Castrato!_ " Katrina casts. 

I dive out of the way. "Gah! _Protego!_ What in the Abyss are you doing?" 

Padfoot growls at her from under the bed, and notably doesn't jump in front of any curses for me. 

"Testing your worth, of course," Katrina says. " _Castrato!_ " 

As I dodge, block, and counter a hail of Castration Curses, I suddenly realize why Viktor was so eager to get someone to marry his sister. She's crazy, and just a little scary! 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I cast. " _Stupefy! Frigipes!_ " 

The first two spells miss, and the third doesn't even phase her. Despite standing on a slick sheet of ice, she doesn't slip or lose her balance. "Is that the best you can do?" Katrina says. "Come on! Show me your skills!" 

"But--" I start. Then another curse catches me offguard, and I stumble to the floor, bleeding profusely from my neck and chest. 

"I deem you unworthy," Katrina says, standing above me as my vision fades away into darkness. 

* * *

I wake with a soft groan. Well, that was pleasant. And I still have Katrina sitting on the end of my bed, looking down at me. 

"Finally bothered to wake up, did you?" Katrina says. 

"Hello, Katrina," I mutter. 

"Oh, you recognize me?" Katrina says. "Did Viktor show you a picture, describe me or something, or was it just a lucky guess? What's my baby brother been saying about me?" 

"Absolutely nothing," I reply. "Just a lucky guess." 

"Well, it won't help you," Katrina says. "I don't think you're worthy to be my husband, little boy. Come on, get up and duel me. Prove yourself to me." 

"Alright, alright!" I say, getting up and pulling out my wand. I can see how this morning is going to be going. 

I know better than to fool around this time. I need to take her seriously. She is vicious and will show me no mercy. I dodge curses left and right, keeping alert and retaliating in kind. I don't really _want_ to hurt her, but she's obviously not satisfied by me sending off tame school-approved spells. 

"Come on. Viktor told me you could cast the Sleetstorm Curse," Katrina says. "After only seeing it cast once, no less. Show me, then!" 

" _Nevischio!_ " I cast. A small, localized blizzard appears above Katrina's head. 

The spell is fairly weak, and Katrina neutralizes the effects of it easily. "Needs work, certainly," Katrina says. "But you _did_ cast it. I want to know how. You need to use the memory of a snowstorm in your homeland in order to cast it. Do they even have such things in England?" 

"I'm sure they do, but I didn't even grow up in England," I say. "I was raised in the United States. And my home village did indeed get some nasty snowstorms during the winter." 

"Whatever," Katrina says. "At least you display an adequate knowledge of curses for your age. I suppose I'll have to marry you. But I don't have to like it!" 

"If you don't want to marry me--" 

"Quiet, you," Katrina snaps. "You're not back out now, are you?" 

"Of course not," I say. 

"The wedding is scheduled for the Winter Solstice," Katrina says. "Maybe you'll have the good grace to _die_ after getting me pregnant, so that I don't have to deal with being married to you forever." 

"That's entirely likely," I say lightly. 

At least I didn't ignobly die this time to a random curse. Katrina is agile, graceful, quick as the wind. Her spells are ferocious, ruthless, relentless. I've never seen a woman like her before. I think I'm in love. Maybe I'm not gay after all. But I definitely like boys, too. So perhaps I'm bisexual. Or perhaps badass-sexual. Or something. Yeah, I think I can live with that. 

Once Katrina leaves, Sirius transforms, and I put up a couple spells for privacy. Sirius says, "So that's the woman you've got to marry? I'm not sure whether to offer congratulations or condolences." 

"I'm not sure, either..." I say. "Personally, if I had my choice, I'd want _you_ to be by my side forever." 

Sirius chuckles softly. "We don't always get what we want, do we." 

The wedding takes place after the next full moon, to which I'm grateful. Dumbledore didn't look like he wanted to approve of this sort of thing, but wound up just throwing up his hands in surrender and frustration. I haven't really been making his job easy, I fear. I don't think he would have ever helped me to become his Boy-Who-Lived if he had any idea at the time what I might wind up going on to do. 

More students than usual are staying at school for the Christmas holiday because of the Yule Ball that will be taking place. 

* * *

I wake up on the morning after the Winter Solstice with a hangover and little idea what happened the previous day. Well, I must have had my wedding... My blushing bride is nowhere in sight, however, and I'm not even sure where I am. I pull out the Remembrall Draco gave me, and it turns red. At least it wasn't black. I haven't been Obliviated. I get dressed and stumble out of the room, and find my way to the Great Hall. 

"What in the Abyss happened yesterday?" I say, plopping myself down at the Slytherin table next to my friends. Looks like lunch is currently on. 

"You got married," Draco says. 

"I think I vaguely remember that..." I say. 

"Then Viktor introduced you to firewhiskey," Draco adds. 

"Oh," I say. "Does alcohol normally make you forget things?" 

"I suppose, if you drink enough of it," Draco says, shrugging. "And you drank enough of it that you started singing. Badly. Don't do that again, please." 

I snort softly. "Don't get drunk, or don't sing? I don't really plan on doing either. I don't relish the thought of forgetting things. Anyway, where's Katrina?" 

"Went home already," Draco says. "She said that she hoped that she got pregnant last night, or she'd have to endure sleeping with you again." 

"Did she really say that?" I ask. 

"Would I lie to you?" Draco says. 

"I thought she'd at least stay for the Yule Ball," I say. 

"She said that after seeing your ineptitude in bed, she didn't care to test your gracelessness on the dance floor," Draco says. 

"While I can quite easily imagine her saying these things, you repeating them word for word isn't helping matters any," I say with a smirk. 

"Sorry," Draco says, sounding not the least bit contrite, especially the way he's grinning. 

"Bah, so who am I supposed to take to the ball _now_?" I wonder aloud. 

"Katrina said that you could take your boyfriend along if you wanted," Draco says. "Or your girlfriend if you're actually not gay. She said that she's not about to get jealous of barely-pubescent children over the sake of a mediocre sperm donor." 

Perhaps it's just as well that Katrina is already gone. "I think I've heard quite enough of what Katrina says now," I say. "Do you have a date, Draco?" 

"If you're trying to invite me, I'm not gay, Stormseeker," Draco replies dryly. 

I snort softly. "I was just wondering, not suggesting anything." 

"But yes, I do have a date," Draco says. "And no, I'm not telling you who it is." 

"Prat," I say, smirking. 

I imagine that most of the students fourth year and up already have dates by this point. I might have better luck asking a third year, since they otherwise wouldn't be able to attend the ball. Luna went home for Christmas, so she apparently didn't have a date. After lunch, I head off to send her a message. 

"Luna," I write. "I know this is a bit of short notice, but I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Yule Ball with me. My wife skipped town and left me without a date, so we can go as friends if you want? I'll understand if you have other plans, though. Please write back with an answer soon. Thanks. Stormseeker." 

The next morning at breakfast, Solomon brings back a letter with Luna's reply. "Stormseeker, I would be happy to come to the Yule Ball as your friend," Luna writes. "I'll be certain to bring along my father's best wrackspurt repellents, as well. You can never be too careful." 

Christmas day arrives. I've had far too many other things on my mind to try to think of the perfect present for my friends, so I just wound up sending them all candy and books. 

Luna arrives in the afternoon for the Yule Ball this evening. She's elegantly clad in a dress that appears to be entirely made from a shiny, metallic material, including the hat. 

"Very... interesting attire, Luna," I say, looking at her in wonderment. 

"Thank you, Stormseeker," Luna says. "My father discovered that tin foil makes for adequate wrackspurt repellent. I wasn't content with merely protecting my head, however. Here, I brought something for you, too." She pulls out a necklace made from butterbeer corks. "Happy Christmas." 

"Happy Christmas," I repeat, chuckling and taking the gift in good faith, and put it around my neck. 

"So your wife left already?" Luna asks. "That's too bad. She was quite fascinating." 

"She reminds me of my great-grandmother," I murmur. "I don't want to know what that says about me." 

When the ball begins, I spot Draco come into the hall with Hermione at his arm. I almost don't recognize her for a moment, and wonder where she ever got _clothes_ like that. Did Draco buy some for her, I wonder? They're deep blue, full of lace and ruffles, and trail all the way down to the floor. Her hair is done up in bronze and sapphires. She looks like a Ravenclaw princess. 

"I hope that the Infinite Dragon is happy with his chosen mate," Luna comments absently. 

"I never would have expected him to intentionally defy his family like that," I say quietly. 

"His path has taken him far, but there is still much ahead of him," Luna says. "Shall we dance?" 

"I don't know how to dance," I admit. McGonagall was offering lessons, but I really didn't feel welcome and was awfully busy with other concerns, so I didn't bother to go. 

"That's alright," Luna says. "I'll teach you a lovely dance I came across while on holiday last summer." 

"Alright," I say. 

"Here, you stand like this... put your hands out like this..." she proceeds to give a demonstration, explaining each move step by step. I follow along as best as I can. 

"Stormseeker, _what_ are you doing?" Draco asks, coming over to us with Hermione. 

"Dancing," I say. 

"That's the most ridiculous dance I've ever seen," Draco says. 

"It serves well to ward off nargles," Luna says. "I'm certain that the Macarena will prove to be quite popular in upcoming years." 

Draco looks at her incredulously. "I certainly hope not." 

"It's not quite the same without the music, though," Luna says. 

"Right, forget dancing," I say. "Why don't we just take a walk?" 

"Alright, Stormseeker," Luna says. 

I wander around a bit with Luna, trying to relax. People tend to avoid me enough these days when I _don't_ have Luna with me. _With_ her, it seems like the vast majority of people around would rather just pretend that I'm not present. 

Wanting to get away from the people for a little bit, I slip outside with Luna. It's a lovely evening, with lights dancing among the rose garden. Here and there, some people are sitting on stone benches, pointedly also ignoring us. 

Then, I overhear voices somewhere nearby, sounding like they don't want to be overheard. "I don't know what you're fussing about, Igor." That sounds like Snape. 

"Severus, you cannot pretend that this isn't happening!" Who is that other person? Sounds like someone from Durmstrang. I peer around to get a look. Ah, Karkaroff. "It's been growing clearer for months! I am very concerned!" 

"Then flee, if you are afraid," Snape says coolly. "I will cover for you. I am remaining here, however." 

Snape blasts apart several rose bushes in a display of anger I rarely see in him. Two students, likely having been snogging in the bushes, squeal and run off in the wake of Snape taking points from their houses. 

"And what are you two doing?" Snape demands, noticing Luna and me standing there. 

"Nothing of import," I reply. "And we have certainly not overheard anything that you might have been saying." 

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek and for eavesdropping, Potter," Snape says. 

"I'm not in Gryffindor anymore," I remind him. "I think I might have seen Ron doing something foolish back in the hall, though. Like dancing badly." 

"Ten points from Gryffindor for Weasley's terrible attempts at dancing," Snape says offhandedly. "Now keep walking, Potter. You heard nothing." 

"I think I might have heard the calls of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in this direction," Luna says dreamily. "We must go try to catch it!" 

"You do that," Snape says as we head off. 

Further on, I overhear another conversation. 

"I knew from the moment I saw you." That sounds like Hagrid. 

"What is that?" asks a deep woman's voice that could only be Madame Maxine. 

I don't really care to interrupt that conversation either. I pretend to ignore them, staring at a beetle crawling along a statue. 

"Stormseeker," Luna whispers. "That's no ordinary beetle." 

I frown at her and turn my attention back to the beetle. I don't see anything unusual about it, but Luna's a Seeker, after all, so if she says there's something strange about it, I'll take her word for it. I snatch it up and hold it in my cupped hands as it frantically tries to fly away. 

"Do you have a jar or bottle or something on you?" I ask. 

"Here," Luna says, pulling out an empty butterbeer bottle and holding it out. 

"Thanks," I say, shoving the beetle into the bottle, and Luna quickly stops it up with the cork. I cast a spell on it to make sure the beetle won't suffocate. Assuming they even need to breathe. I have no idea. 

"I have never been so insulted!" Madame Maxine is yelling. "I am not a half-giant! I just have big bones!" She storms off in a huff. 

Hagrid's been shot down, apparently. I don't think he'd really appreciate my consolations right now, so I just head off with Luna again, staring into the bottle at the ordinary-looking beetle. 

"So, you know what this beetle is?" I ask. 

Luna nods. "It's an Animagus." 

" _What?_ " I say, gaping at her. "Do you know who?" 

Luna shakes her head. "I have no idea. Sorry." 

"Wait, you can tell people are Animagi?" I say quietly. "Why didn't you say anything about S-- Stubby Boardman, or Scabbers, then?" 

"I never saw the rat," Luna says. "And by the time I saw Stubby Boardman, the rest of you had already figured it out. I couldn't go to Hogsmeade because I was only in second year, after all, and then you hid him away in the Slytherin dorm." 

"Oh," I say dumbly. "Well, there's one surefire way to find out who this is." 

I pull out the Marauder's Map and activate it, and peer about for our location on the grounds. Sure enough, by the dots labeled Luna Lovegood and Lexen Chelseer, there's a third one labeled Rita Skeeter. I give a positively wicked grin as I realize just who it is that I've caught. 

I head back inside and locate Draco and Hermione, who are taking a break from dancing to get some refreshments. I approach them and cast a quick privacy spell. "Hey, Hermione," I say. "Hate to ask, but you're better with charms than me. Do you know one that'll keep this bottle here from breaking easily?" 

"Oh, sure," Hermione says, pulling out her wand and casting a quick spell over it. 

"So, what is that you caught there?" Draco says. "A nargle?" 

"Don't be silly, Infinite Dragon," Luna says. "A nargle wouldn't fit in that bottle." 

"It's Rita Skeeter," I say. "It would appear that she's an unregistered Animagus. And unless I completely miss my guess, she's been using this form for eavesdropping..." 

"Really," Draco drawls, grinning as well. 

"What are you going to do with her?" Hermione wonders. 

"I'm going to show her that it was a bad idea to piss me off," I say, tucking the bottle away in my bag. 

"Hey, Harry!" says Cedric, approaching us. 

I cancel my spell and turn to him. "Good evening, Cedric," I say. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Cedric says, glancing at my friends. 

"Sure," I say. "Sorry, Luna." She smiles at me dreamily, and I head off with Cedric. "What is it?" 

"I really owe you one for telling me about the dragons," Cedric says. "I would have been toast otherwise." 

"Don't mention it," I say. 

"Have you figured out the golden egg yet?" Cedric says. 

"Ugh," I say. "I entirely forgot about that. I've had a lot of other things on my mind lately." 

"Yeah, getting married and all," Cedric says. "Congratulations, I think." 

"Thanks, I think," I say. 

"Anyway, with the egg," Cedric says. "Take a bath. Take the egg with you and think things over. It'll really help. You can even use the prefects' bathroom. The password is 'pine fresh'. Gotta run." 

He leaves without bothering to tell me where the prefects' bathroom is. Oh well, I suppose I'll just look on the Marauder's Map. Silly Cedric. Well, I appreciate the thought, anyway. I'd feel awfully silly myself if we got to the time of the second task and I had no idea what was going on.


	69. Imposters

On Boxing Day, I gather in the sleeping dragon room with the Storm Army circle. Luna decided to stick around after the Yule Ball rather than go home again. 

"So, this is that reporter that kept writing nasty things about you guys?" Sirius says. 

"The same," I say. "Storm Army, secure the room. Stand ready." 

"Ready," echo the others. 

I open the cork on the bottle, and the beetle flies out, buzzes around the room, trying to find a way out. But there's no escape. We've erected a solid wall of barriers around the room that not even an insect can get through. 

"Give it up, Rita," I say. "We know who you are, and we know your secret. You might as well transform now and explain yourself." 

The beetle tries to escape for a few more seconds, and then lights in the center of the floor and shifts form. "Harry!" Rita says. "Are you upset about those articles I wrote? I merely wanted to get the truth out--" 

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Neville says, snatching Rita's wand out of the air. 

"Shove it, Rita," I say. "It would not bother me if you had only reported the truth, no matter how dark and ugly it might be. You exaggerated, bad enough. You lied, worse yet. But the damning point was that you brought my friends into it." 

"And lied about that, too," Draco adds. "My relationship with my father is my _own_ business, but there was absolutely no call in writing that I was abused as a child!" 

"Yes, my condolences for your unfortunate upbringing," Rita says smoothly. 

" _My father did not abuse me!_ " Draco growls. 

"I would not have expected you to be so upset about it, given how estranged you've been from him of late," Rita says. 

"He's still my father," Draco says. 

"And Draco's not the only one with a grievance," Hermione says. " _You_ wrote about how the Stormseeker has been toying with my heart. And that I lied about being descended from Ravenclaw. _And_ that I cheat in my classes." 

"And my Gran went spare when she saw what you wrote about _me_ ," Neville says. 

"And, as if being an escaped murderer wasn't bad enough," Sirius says, "you wrote that I was having an illicit affair with Remus Lupin. And that we had orgies with James and Lily. Come on, woman, respect the dead at least!" 

Rita stares over at Sirius, only then realizing he's there. "Sirius Black! You children are hiding a convicted murderer?" 

"Not convicted," Sirius says. "They never gave me a trial. Why would they bother? I was obviously guilty, right?" 

"So, let's see," I say, glaring at her dangerously. "What shall we do with you?" 

"Look, you know my secret," Rita says. "That could ruin me... I won't write anything bad about any of you ever again. I'll retract my statements. I'll print nothing but what you want me to print!" 

"That would be a tempting offer, provided I cared any longer," I say. "What do the rest of you think?" I look to my friends. 

"No mercy," Draco says. 

"No forgiveness," Sirius adds. 

"Please, you can't do this to me," Rita says. "Don't hurt me!" 

"We really should just blackmail her," Hermione says. "Having a voice in the press would be useful." 

"I don't trust her, though," Neville says, glaring at her. "You made my grandmother cry. You wrote nasty things about my parents. That's over the line. Way, way over the line. And don't even say that you were just exposing the truth." 

"Rita, do you deny that you went after these people because they were my friends?" I say. "Because you wanted to make me and everyone associated with me look bad? I'd think that if you attacked _everyone_ , someone would have taken offense to your writing long ago and shut you down by now." 

"The people have to know the truth!" Rita says. "You're shaping up to be the next Dark Lord, and these are your new generation of Death Eaters!" 

"Not a chance," Neville says. "I'd never go after _anyone_ who didn't deserve it." 

"Killing her might be problematic, though," Blaise says. "Maybe if we used some way to ensure her cooperation..." 

"No," Draco says. "I say we kill her." 

"Why don't we take turns?" I say. "Let's each of us cast whatever spell we want on her." 

"Let's," Sirius agrees. 

No one in the room is feeling merciful enough to pass up the opportunity to hex Rita Skeeter. I take my turn last, and when it comes around to me, Draco looks at me and says, "You've been learning the Unforgivables, right? Why don't you throw a _Crucio_ at her?" 

Neville pales and looks at me in a touch of alarm. 

I shake my head. "No," I say. "I don't think she deserves that." 

"Why not?" Draco says. "If she doesn't, then who does?" 

"Only someone who has cast it on others, for fun," I say darkly. Neville looks immensely grateful at me. "No, I don't approve of needlessly torturing people. Let's end this now." I point my wand at Rita and focus cold hatred, desire to kill... " _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

A flash of green light strikes Rita Skeeter, and she falls limp. It's an incredible rush, the most amazing feeling! And I thought that killing vermin felt good. 

"So," I say quietly. "Do any of you think I should go to Azkaban?" 

"Not on your life," Sirius says. 

I look down at the corpse as Draco goes to look through her possessions. Should I be feeling some sort of remorse or guilt here? There's nothing but the buzz of dark magic. Was there another way? Certainly. I didn't have to kill her. That was entirely my own choice. And I chose to end her life. This may not really be a good thing, but I can't say this was a mistake, either. I think I'm more disturbed by the fact that I felt nothing for killing her, even _enjoyed_ doing it, than the fact that a woman is now dead because of me. 

* * *

That night, I take a nightmare-filled nap beforehand just as insurance against anything going really wrong somehow. Paranoia, I suppose. In my experience, though, I cannot be too paranoid. Constant vigilance, as Moody would say. Well after everyone else has gone to bed, I sneak out with the invisibility cloak to find the prefects' bathroom. 

I pull out the Marauder's Map and peer over it to see where I'm going. There's not a lot of movement on the map at the moment, but as I scan over the map, I notice one dot poking around Snape's potion ingredient storage. Bartemius Crouch? Why in the Abyss is Crouch sneaking around Snape's storage in the middle of the night? Weird, weird, weird. 

I finally locate the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor and make my way up there. I let myself in by muttering, "Pine fresh." The place is surprisingly large and opulent, with a large image of a mermaid, sleeping. Prefects are treated like royalty here? Maybe I should have gone for being a model student so I could be a prefect myself, instead of making myself off to be a rebel that delves into darkness overly much. 

Best take advantage of it while I can, though. I strip down and draw myself a bath, and slide into the bubbly water. I've entirely forgotten about the egg again for a few minutes as I just relax in the soothing water. I do, however, slowly become aware that I'm not exactly alone in the bathroom. 

"Myrtle?" I say with a touch of surprise. 

"Hello, Stormseeker," Myrtle says brightly. 

"Are you watching me bathe?" I ask. 

"Oh, I watched the other boy do it too," Myrtle says. "And the other prefects sometimes. And I also watch you taking a shower sometimes." 

"Myrtle, I'm a married man," I protest. 

"Like you really care about that all that much," Myrtle says. 

"Myrtle!" 

"So, are you going to try to figure out the bit with the egg, or just fall asleep in the water?" Myrtle asks. 

"Oh, right, that," I say, reaching over to grab the egg. I open it up, and it emits a horrible screeching sound. "Well, that's less than useful..." 

Maybe he meant for me to open it under the water. As relaxing as it might be, there's not much other point to having this much water around, I suppose. This time, instead of a cacophony, the egg emits the sound of beautiful singing. 

"Come seek us where our voices sound,   
We cannot sing above the ground,   
And while you're searching, ponder this;   
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,   
An hour long you'll have to look,   
And to recover what we took,   
But past an hour, the prospect's black,   
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back." 

So, what, is this supposed to be some clue to the second task? I'll have an hour to find something, from the sounds of it. But who in the Abyss is it talking about that's singing? And underwater, unless I miss my guess. Mermaids? 

"Ugh," I mutter, washing out my eyes. "I'm going to be spending the next two months learning something to help me around underwater, won't I." 

"Well, that's quicker than the other boy," Myrtle says. "By the time he figured it out, almost all the bubbles were gone." 

Who would have thought that Myrtle had a habit of peeping on naked boys? Whatever. I spend a bit more time relaxing, and don't really care if a ghost girl is watching me. I could definitely use this sort of break every now and then. If it weren't for the Dream Sweets, I think I might have gone insane by now. 

I get out of the bath, dry off, get dressed again, all the while thoroughly ignoring the fact that Myrtle might be watching me. I'm going to very pointedly _not care_ if she's watching me shower, either. Don't care, don't care, really don't care. 

I bring out the map and look it over again. I don't think I care to be inadvertently ambushed by Crouch while wandering around the halls. Sure enough, there are dots moving about. Crouch again, and Snape. I imagine that Snape has noticed someone broke into his potion stores. Curiosity gets the better of me, and, hidden by my cloak, I sneak off in the direction where Crouch's dot is located. 

The two dots are next to one another by the time I get close, and I hear voices. "Someone broke into my office, and it wasn't a bloody poltergeist!" Snape is saying. "There's no way anyone but a wizard could have gotten inside." 

The person he's talking to is not Crouch. "Who would want to break into your office?" Moody is telling him. 

Why is Moody marked on the map with the name Bartemius Crouch? The map doesn't lie, however. It seems I'm not the only imposter in the castle. For an instant, 'Moody' looks straight at me, and it dawns on me that that eye of his might be able to actually detect me. Crap. 

My heart pounds. I back away, climbing backwards up the stairs. Not thinking about what I'm doing, my foot gets trapped in a trick step. Jarred by the suddenness of it, the map slips out of my hands and flutters down the stairs. I'm such an idiot -- I just skipped it on the way down! I think this warrants an upgrade from a "crap" to an outright "shit". Maybe even a "fuck". I try desperately not to panic. No good. Panicking now. 

"What is this?" Snape says, snatching for the piece of parchment. 

I make begging motions in the general direction of Moody/Crouch. "That's mine," he says. "I dropped it. Give it here." He grabs it from Snape. 

"Very well," Snape says. "Come help me search for the intruder. It was probably a student out of bed, swiping potion ingredients." 

"Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?" the man who looks like Moody says. 

"You already searched my office thoroughly," Snape says disgustedly. 

"Auror's privelege," says Crouch. "Dumbledore trusts you. But there are some spots that never come off, if you know what I mean." 

Snape grabs his forearm and glares at Crouch. 

Crouch just laughs. "Go to bed, Snape." 

"I have as much right to prowl the school at night as you do," Snape says sourly, but he does ultimately turn and head away. 

Once Snape is out of earshot, Crouch approaches me. "Nice cloak, Potter," he says quietly. "What's this parchment?" 

"It's a map of Hogwarts," I reply, removing my cloak. 

Crouch takes a closer look at the parchment. "Merlin's beard, this is quite the map, Potter." He pauses for a moment, peers at the map some more, and says, "Or should I say, Lexen Chelseer?" 

I grunt. "It seems that neither of us is who we appear to be." 

"So it would appear," Crouch says. "This might explain a few things." He points his wand at me. "Tell me, Chelseer. Where is the real Harry Potter?" 

"Dead," I reply, looking down his wand tensely. 

"Hogwash," Crouch says. "Polyjuice doesn't work on the dead." 

"I'm not using Polyjuice," I say. "I just happened to look similar to him. He died as a child -- nobody had really seen him. The Harry Potter that went to Hogwarts has always been me." 

"And the scar?" Crouch asks. 

"Dumbledore made it," I say. "And, I assume, did whatever trickery was necessary to cover everything else up." There's no sense in lying about it when I've already been backed into a corner like this. 

"All to cover up the fact that the real Boy-Who-Lived is dead..." Crouch muses. "Dumbledore is more wily than I gave him credit for. I find it hard to believe that he'd willingly support a dark wizard like you, though." 

"He didn't know," I say. "Neither did I, really, at that point. So, what's it going to be, Barty Crouch? Are you going to kill me where I stand?" I look at him calmly. I have no chance to run, and he's discovered my secret. I don't know whether I can trust this man or not. Dying here and now might well be for the best. 

"I would have expected you would be begging for mercy," Crouch comments. 

"I'd be perfectly willing to keep your secret if you will keep mine," I say. 

"You've found me out," Crouch says. "And you aren't really Harry Potter. Tell me, Chelseer. Who's side are you really on?" 

"My own," I reply. 

"You don't support Dumbledore?" Crouch asks. 

"Abyss, no," I say. 

"Would you still oppose Lord Voldemort, however?" Crouch asks. 

"You better believe it," I say. "I'm not evil, and I have no love for that madman. Dark wizard or no, I'll still fight him with everything I've got." 

"I see," Crouch says. "Very well. Goodbye, Chelseer." 

Before I can say a word of protest, pain rips through my chest. My head is spinning. Darkness takes me in moments. 

* * *

I wake in my bed in the Slytherin dorm. What in the Abyss just happened? Crouch just cursed me to death! Did he not believe me? Or was that entirely the wrong thing to say in the first place? Oh, Abyss, does this mean that he's actually working for the Dark Lord? 

Shaking a little, I stumble into the restroom and wash my face. I have no need to visit the prefects' bathroom any longer. I already have my clue, such as it is. But I find this revelation to be vastly more important than the silly tournament. There's a Death Eater posing as an ex-Auror, teaching students right under Dumbledore's nose! 

"Still awake, Stormseeker?" Draco asks from the doorway. 

"Moody is Crouch," I say flatly. 

"Huh?" Draco says, stepping up next to me. 

"The man who looks like Mad-Eye Moody is actually Bartemius Crouch," I say. 

"Are you sure?" Draco asks. 

"Absolutely," I say. I pull out the map and show it to him, and point to the dot marked Bartemius Crouch on the map. 

"How can that be?" Draco wonders. "He'd have to be using Polyjuice or something." 

"Probably," I say. "Maybe that's why I spotted him sneaking into Snape's potion storage." 

Polyjuice doesn't work on the dead, Crouch said. I peer at the map some more and look to the Defense office. There's a dot in there labeled Alastor Moody. So the real Moody is alive, being held prisoner in his own office? That's horrible. 

"But... why?" Draco says. "This makes no sense." 

"He's a Death Eater," I say. 

"No way," Draco says. "Barty Crouch was always a staunch opponent of dark wizards. He even sent his own son to Azkaban for it!" 

"He's been teaching me Unforgivables," I point out. "And didn't seem at all put out by the fact that I'm a dark wizard. And he killed me when I proclaimed that I would oppose the Dark Lord." 

"That's... pretty convincing evidence, yeah," Draco says. "Hmm, come to think, his son was also named Bartemius Crouch, Junior." 

"The map doesn't specify any seniors or juniors," I muse. "Do you suppose he could be the Barty Crouch who went to Azkaban, then?" 

"That would make more sense," Draco says. "But how is it that nobody has noticed?" 

"He must be playing a sufficiently convincing impression of Moody," I say. 

"So what are we going to do about it?" Draco asks. 

"I don't know yet," I say. "I think right now, I just want to sleep." 

I'll deal with this in the morning. I head back to bed, pop a Dream Sweet in my mouth, and go to sleep. 

* * *

I wake in the morning. On the one hand, I have two months to prepare for an underwater task when I can't even swim. On the other hand, I have to figure out what I'm going to do about Barty Crouch, the Death Eater. At least he doesn't know about my secret. I have the advantage of information here. 

Should I confront him about it? I can't imagine anything good coming from it. I could tell Dumbledore, but I'm not overly fond of Dumbledore at the moment, and that might tip my hand and cause me to lose whatever advantage I have. So, for the moment, I ultimately decide to do nothing and leave Crouch well enough alone. Whatever he might be planning obviously hasn't come into play yet. 

Still, poor Moody. I'd really like to find a way to help him. But I don't know what to do. Crouch is powerful. I have no illusions about being able to defeat him on my own. I might be able to bring him down with the help of Storm Army, but I'd rather not see any of my friends get hurt or killed in the process. 

At breakfast, I ask, "Hey, Hermione. Do you happen to know of any spells that could help someone move and breathe underwater?" 

"Is this for the second task?" Hermione asks. 

"Yeah," I say. 

"I don't know that I'm supposed to help you with that, but after seeing what they had you do for the first task, I'd rather not have you get killed because I refused to help or something," Hermione says. 

"I think cheating at a tournament is the least of my concerns at the moment," I say wryly. 

"Hmm, for breathing, you could use a Bubble-Head Charm," Hermione says. "And movement? Couldn't you just swim?" 

"I don't know how to swim," I admit. 

"That might be problematic," Hermione says. "Maybe a Propulsion Charm or something..." 

"Ugh," I say. "Two months to learn two charms? I don't suppose you know if any _curses_ that might do the same things?" 

"You might find a curse that can help propel you through the water," Hermione says. "But I don't know that there would be any replacement for the Bubble-Head Charm." 

"Alright," I say. "I'll see about learning the Bubble-Head Charm first, and look into whether or not there are any curses that might do what I want." 

"When are you going to start teaching us those _other_ curses?" Hermione asks. 

"Whenever you guys are up to it," I say. 

That, of course, leads to me being roped into spending the remainder of the holiday break teaching the Imperius Curse to my friends. At least that one doesn't require actually killing or hurting anything. 

"And if you want to learn the Killing Curse, you're going to need to find something to kill," I tell them after one session. "Someone bring in a box of bugs or something." 

"We should totally practice on Hagrid's bloody skrewts," Draco suggests. 

"I would dearly love to," I say dryly. "Though I daresay he'd notice." 

"Pity." 

* * *

With the new term comes my next 'detention' with the imposter. I can't avoid him any longer. Why did I fail to notice sooner that there was something odd about a slightly eccentric former Auror teaching Unforgivable Curses to a student? Not to mention the way he behaved sometimes. In hindsight, I think it was pretty foolishly obvious, but I think I was too caught up in the feeling of using dark magic to pay attention or care. 

"Come in, Potter," Moody says. "Have a seat." When I do so, he waves his wand absently to ensure our privacy. "So, Potter, are you ready for this?" 

Am I ready? What kind of a question is that? I'm nervous as a boy with bees in his hat, not the least of which because I know this is _not Moody_. I keep reminding myself that, despite whatever he looks like, this is Barty Crouch Probably Junior. 

"Something you want to say, Potter?" Moody -- no, _Crouch_ \-- says. 

"Let's do this," I say quickly, to distract myself if nothing else. "What do I need to do?" 

"Have you ever seen the Cruciatus Curse in action, Potter?" Moody/Crouch asks. "Besides my own demonstration in class." 

I remember the terrible agony Quirrell put me through. Like every nerve in my body was on fire. I remember wanting to die, hoping that I would die, to put an end to the torment, but I did not die. But that never happened. That didn't happen in this timeline. "No, sir," I whisper. 

"Truly?" Crouch asks. "You can't fool me, boy. You might try to hide it, but I saw the look on your face. So I'm going to ask you again." 

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. 

"Where was that?" 

"The Dark Lord," I murmur. 

"He put you under the Cruciatus Curse?" 

"Yes, sir," I say. 

Crouch's face twitches and he looks thoughtful for a moment. "Potter," he says. "Why is it that you call him the Dark Lord?" 

"Because 'You-Know-Who' sounds stupid, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' is excessively pretentious, and 'Lord Voldemort' tends to make people upset," I reply. And if I called him Tom, he'd probably kill me, but I don't mention that part. 

"Calling him the Dark Lord makes it sound like you support him, though," Crouch says. 

So it comes to this. He's putting me on the spot. I need to stay calm. I can't let anything else slip. I am the eye of the storm. Don't let him see my emotions. Don't let him notice how nervous I am. Nervous? No, very close to terrified. 

"Answer me, Potter," Crouch says. 

"Just teach me the spell," I mutter. 

"Is that what you really want?" Crouch asks. "Perhaps you need another demonstration. _Crucio!_ " 

Heart-wrenching agony rips through my body. I find myself screaming involuntarily. Everything hurts. I feel like my body must be tearing itself apart. Make it stop. Please make it stop. _Make it stop!_

It stops. I don't know if I managed to say that last aloud or what. I slump in the chair, still twitching, still aching, but at least the worst of it is over. 

"So, that was what you wanted, wasn't it?" Crouch asks. 

How can I even think of learning a spell like this? Why would I ever believe this is an acceptable thing to cast on another living being? Did I completely take leave my senses and any sort of principles I might have ever had? 

"Feel like answering my question now, Potter?" 

I don't want to answer. Either way I'm damned. Nothing good will come of opposing the Dark Lord, and nothing good will come of supporting him. Why am I even here? How can I fight people like this? There's so much more I need to learn. I feel so weak, so helpless. 

"Or would you like another demonstration?" 

"No," I whisper. "No, Crouch, don't hurt me..." 

He peers at me with his glass eye. "What did you call me?" 

Crap. A slip of the tongue. I'm doomed. "Barty. Crouch. Junior," I murmur thickly. "I know who you are." 

"How long have you known?" Crouch asks. "And how did you find out?" 

"A while," I say vaguely. 

" _How did you find out?_ " 

I don't want to say. If he finds out about the map, he could look at it and find out who I really am. And that could lead to him killing me again, or worse. Think fast. But I can't think of any lie that would be remotely plausible. 

"Do I need to threaten you with the Cruciatus Curse again?" 

I sigh. No help for it. I'm not going to wind up like Neville's parents over something like this. I pull out the map from my bag of holding, tap my wand to it, and say, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

Crouch takes the map from me and looks it over. "Ah... I see, this is quite some map. And it shows the real names of everyone in the castle?" 

"Yes, sir," I murmur. 

"Lexen Chelseer?" Crouch says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yes, sir," I repeat. 

"You are _not_ Harry Potter?" Crouch asks. "Where is the real Harry Potter, then?" 

I don't really care to go into this again. "I obviously didn't want you to find out about this," I say. "I'm just a guy who happened to look like Harry Potter, that Dumbledore used to cover up his own mistakes." 

"I see," Crouch says. "So... which side is it that you are actually on, then?" 

"None of them," I say. "My own." 

"You do not seek to oppose the Dark Lord?" Crouch asks. 

"Do you think I'd be crazy enough to tell you if I were?" I say. "I do know who you work for, and I'm not about to tell you anything that's going to get me killed." 

Crouch snorts in amusement. "At least you're not as foolish as those who would spit defiance in the Dark Lord's face even when looking at certain death." 

"Huh, maybe I was a bad Gryffindor after all," I say. "I'm not _always_ a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation." I shrug. Not that self-preservation, as such, really means much to me. Actually, thinking sensibly, dying here would probably be the smart thing. I've blown my cover again, after all. I should be provoking him into killing me. 

"The Dark Lord rewards well those who serve him, however," Crouch says. 

"I have no interest in doing so," I say firmly. 

"No?" Crouch says. "Not even for the sake of any arcane knowledge you desire?" 

Tempting. Very tempting. I hesitate. But only for a moment. I think of Neville's parents. I think of what the Dark Lord's supporters would do to Hermione, or Rispy. I think of how Myrtle was killed. I think of what I was forced to do to those I care about while under the Imperius Curse... 

"No," I state. "I cannot support the Dark Lord." 

"Very well," Crouch says, and points his wand at me. " _Obliviate_." 

* * *

I'm getting undressed to go to bed after a session of curse practice with Professor Moody. I can't actually really cast the Cruciatus Curse yet, unfortunately. I think I'm going to need to work past a pretty heavy mental block to get this to work. 

Sifting through my bag for my Dream Sweets, I notice a couple things. First is that the Marauder's Map appears to be missing. Second? The Remembrall Draco gave me turns black at my touch. I've been Obliviated? Crap. 

"Draco," I say, then call more loudly, "Draco!" 

"What is-- oh," Draco says, eyes widening when he sees the ball in my hand. 

"Draco, do you have any idea how I might have gotten Obliviated in the last while?" I say. I'm not certain when I last touched the Remembrall, but I can't think it would have been too long ago. 

"You just came back from 'detention' with our Defense teacher," Draco says. "Didn't you?" 

"Yes," I say. 

"Then he probably did it," Draco says. "He's actually Barty Crouch, Junior, a Death Eater in disguise." 

I stare at him. "He's _what?_ " 

Draco nods. "And seeing as you're the one who told you that... yeah, I'd say that's hitting the bullseye." 

"Shit," I murmur. All the trouble I went to trying to avoid being Obliviated by Lockhart, and then I'm caught with this out of the blue. 

I can't go to bed yet. I get dressed again, pull on my invisibility cloak, and head for the Defense office. He probably took the map from me in hopes of making sure I didn't discover his name again. 

The door is locked. I take off my cloak and knock. Moody opens the door and peers out at me. "Potter?" Moody says. "What are you doing back here? It's after curfew." 

"We need to talk," I say. "May I enter?" 

"Come in, then," Moody says, stepping aside. He closes the door behind me, and gives a wave of his wand to keep the conversation between us. 

"You Obliviated me," I say, giving him a hard look. 

"Ah, you found out awfully quick," Moody says. 

"You think I would be foolish enough not to leave insurance?" I say. "Constant vigilance, isn't that what _Moody_ always says?" 

"I'll be sure to be more thorough the next time," _Crouch_ says. 

"I would appreciate it if you would leave my mind alone," I say with forced calm. "Please restore my memories." 

"I made you a generous offer, and you refused," Crouch says. "But it seems my precautions were insufficient." 

"If I'd known you were going to Obliviate me, I might have reconsidered," I retort. 

"Fine, why don't we see what you think of it now, then?" Crouch says. 

He taps my forehead with his wand and mutters some words I don't quite catch. Suddenly, my memories of what really happened this evening come rushing back. Including being a victim of the Cruciatus Curse again. I could have done without that. 

"And if I'm not satisfied with your answer this time, I'm going to make sure to do a much more thorough job of it," Crouch says. "I will stamp out anyone or anything that could possibly lead you to the truth." 

"I'll agree to whatever you want," I say. 

Crouch stares at me. "I don't get it. Being threatened with torture cows you only so far. Being tempted with knowledge and power takes you only to a point. But being threatened with Obliviation makes you agree to anything?" 

"I don't like Obliviation," I say. "It's second only to the Dementor's Kiss on my list of things I don't want to happen to me." 

"You're a very strange person," Crouch says, shaking his head. "Why are you so afraid of Obliviation? If it's done right, you'd never even know the difference. You could live out the rest of your life blissfully unaware of the truth." 

"I value truth more than bliss," I say flatly. 

"Enough that you fearlessly come up to me and demand your memories to be restored, even knowing what you do," Crouch says. 

Fearlessly? Hardly. Just that my anger overwhelmed my actions to the point where I could forget about how terrified I was. And now a Death Eater knows my secret, and I really just ought to die and start today all over again. What a mess. 

"I would rather be _killed_ than Obliviated," I say. "At least that's an honest death." 

Crouch grunts. "Strange boy. I know you're not really Harry Potter, but the Dark Lord will not turn away a loyal servant, regardless, I'm certain." 

I don't think I can do this. I can't serve him. I can't actually serve him. Not over this. Not when I still have the option of fixing this. 

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that, Barty Crouch Junior," I say quietly. "Goodbye." I'm sorry, my friends. This is for the best. 

Crouch gapes at me as I focus upon my Time Magic. I will myself to be younger. I shrink away, rapidly growing too small for my robes. And then, in moments, I am no more. 

* * *

I wake in the Slytherin dorm. Saturday morning again. Still tired. I poke my head out of the curtains and see my friends getting dressed for the day. 

"I've had a hell of a day," I say. "I'm going to sleep all day." 

"Alright, Stormseeker," Draco says. 

I close my curtains again, pop another Dream Sweet, and go back to sleep. 

* * *

When I wake again, it's shortly before dinner time. I have 'detention' with Moody/Crouch after dinner. I'm not looking forward to this. I need to avoid being Obliviated, avoid having my secret discovered, and avoid being killed. Not necessarily in that order. 

"What happened today, Stormseeker?" Draco asks. 

"Killed myself," I say. "I'm sorry." 

"I think we're the wrong 'us' to be apologizing to," Blaise says. 

"I'm sure you wouldn't have done that without good reason," Hermione says. 

"I blew my cover," I reply. "The bloody Death Eater found me out. He was threatening me with horrible things to try to force me to serve the Dark Lord." 

"I don't think anyone could blame you for that, Stormseeker," Neville says quietly. 

"I'm really not looking forward to tonight's detention," I murmur. 

I don't know what I'm going to do. I finish up eating, hardly tasting anything, failing to relax even in the slightest. I'm all wound up inside, ready to explode. 

"So, are you ready for this?" Moody asks me in his office after dinner. 

Do I _really_ want to learn the Cruciatus Curse that badly? All my mind can answer is a resounding _no_. If I do this, I'll be forcing myself to overcome mental blocks. Overcome such stopping points as mercy, pity, compassion, love. I might be able to do this, but I don't think that I really want to or ought to. 

"No, sir," I admit softly. "I don't think I can do this." 

"I see," Moody says. "Maybe you're not cut out to be a real dark wizard after all. That's probably just as well. Then I might not have to kill you." 

"The other two spells could be very useful," I say. "But I just don't see how I can justify torturing someone. I don't think I could bring myself to do that." 

"You're a good person, Potter," Moody says. "Take what I've taught you in good grace. But if you ever change your mind, I'll be here." 

"Thank you, sir," I say softly. I'm trying to keep my voice level, my face neutral. Anything to hide just how terrified I am at the moment. I want to get out of here, _now_ , and never come back. I don't want to be alone with this imposter again if I can possibly help it. 

I could attack him now. I could ambush him, catch him by surprise, and free Moody. Sure, I might get killed, but there's a chance that I could succeed. I don't trust to luck, however. I don't trust to wild chances. I'd rather be more certain of my odds before throwing caution to the wind like that. Sorry, Moody. 

I stand up and leave the room without another word.


	70. Under the Water

I spend a good deal of the remaining time leading up to the second task learning how to cast the Bubble-Head Charm. It's probably just as well that I didn't try learning the Propulsion Charm, too, since it's only a few days before the task itself that I can successfully cast the Bubble-Head Charm and keep it active. I manage to kill myself with one of my early miscasts, in which I somehow conjured a bubble of toxic gas over my head instead of breathable air. 

I managed to find a curse that should suffice for propulsion, as well, tucked away in one of the dark magic books Lucius gave me. "Warning," the books reads. "Be careful to brace yourself when casting this spell. It can cause the caster to be pushed backwards." It's called the Energy Stream Curse, and can produce a continuous stream of energy from the caster's wand to knock aside anything in its path. I wouldn't have even thought of it if I didn't remember the icy maze guarding the Philosopher's Stone in first year. 

The _Daily Prophet_ mentions that there's an investigation ongoing into the mysterious disappearance of Rita Skeeter. They suspect that someone she wrote a negative article about her might have had it out for her. However, as she wrote negative articles about a lot of people, that didn't exactly do much to narrow down potential suspects. 

Then, the day of the task arrives in late February. I find myself to be surprisingly relaxed about this. My spells will get me through the day, and it seems far less likely that I will die here than against the dragon. And it's highly unlikely that someone is going to Obliviate me here. 

I glance across at the crowd, smiling at the reassuring waves of my friends. But where's Draco? I don't see his blond head among the usual group. 

"What sort of dark magic do you intend to use this time?" jeers the crowd. I ignore them and step forward to the lake as directed. 

When the task begins, I cast a Bubble-Head Charm and dive into the water. It's ice cold, so I add a Warming Charm on top of that. I still don't know how to swim, and it takes me a bit to get going, aiming curses in the opposite direction to propel me along. My robes get heavy and wet, slowing me down. Maybe it would have been better to strip down to something more skin-tight. 

I really should have done some practice with the Energy Stream Curse beforehand, but I only discovered it a few days before the task. And a good thing I did, too, or I'd be getting nowhere in here. It's easy for me to cast, less easy to get it to propel me where I intend to go. 

It's dark down in the lake, and I mutter " _Lumos_ " to get some light going. I take a look around, trying to get my bearings. But creatures come out of nowhere and swarm over me. Small, horned water demons clench at my body and put their hands around my neck. What are they, grindylows I think? Didn't Remus teach about them last year? I wish now that I could remember the class. 

I try to fight back, struggling against their grip and sending offensive spells at them. There's too many of them. They're dragging me down, and choking off my air. My head's getting light. Darkness overtakes me. 

* * *

I wake in my bed in the Slytherin dorm. Well, that's my first death for this task. Hopefully my next attempt will go better. Damned grindylows. I'll have to try to avoid them. 

Out for the task again. I strip off my heavy robe this time and leave it on the shore. I keep my trousers and the bag of holding inside their pocket, however, just in case I need something that's inside of it. 

Warming Charm, Bubble-Head Charm, Wand-Lighting Charm, and into the water. I propel myself through the water, trying to avoid the area where I ran into the grindylows before. I've gotten better with controlling my movement, but I still have no idea where I'm going. 

"How are you doing?" says Myrtle, appearing in the water beside me after I've wandered around for quite some time. 

"Myrtle!" I say. 

"You might want to try that way," Myrtle says, pointing. "I won't go with you, though. They don't like me very much." 

"Thanks, Myrtle," I say, smiling at her and propelling myself in the way she indicated. 

I hear singing down in the depths, and approach what might be some sort of village. There are crude stone buildings, and fish-like faces peering out from the windows at me. They look nothing like the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom. Is this what merfolk really look like? 

Then, in the center of the village, there's a large statue of a merperson, and two people are bound to it with ropes, as well as two other spots that might have held other people until recently. They appear to be asleep, with thin streams of bubbles emerging from their mouths. I don't recognize the little girl, but Draco is there tied next to her. I see, what they stole wasn't an object, but a person. 

Draco is obviously the one for me. I go up to him and look over the ropes, and pull out the knife Sirius got me for Christmas last year. I fumble with it and almost drop it, but I get Draco free in due order. 

I've no time to lose. I put my arm around Draco's waist and propel us away as forcefully as I can manage. I focus hard upon the curse, putting more energy into the spell to give me a continuous stream. Two others are ahead of me, so I need to make up for lost time. 

But in my rush to get out of the lake, I lose control of my Energy Stream Curse. I burst into the air, flying straight away from the surface of the lake. Everything looks tiny and black beneath me. I drop my wand in surprise, but it's still attached to my wrist chain. I try to grab it again even as Draco and I start falling. 

" _Leviosa!_ " I quickly cast on Draco, sending him drifting more gently down toward the shore. I'm falling too fast. " _Spongify!_ " I hit the ground, and bounce off of it up into the air again, and slam into the castle wall with a crunch. 

* * *

I wake in my bed again. Well, that was unpleasant. Third time's the charm, I suppose. 

I make ready for the task again. Strip off my robe, Warming Charm, Bubble-Head, Wand-Lighting, and into the water one more time. I know exactly where I'm going this time, and focus my Energy Stream to send me straight there in a continuous flow. 

This time, I get there first. There's a Katrina and Cho Chang tied to the statue in addition to the other two. I'm sure as the Abyss not going to rescue my wife, however. How did they determine who to put here, anyway? I bring out the penknife and get Draco free. 

I grab Draco firmly around the waist with my right arm, and send off an Energy Stream to send us back toward the shore. I'm more careful about keeping control of it, slowing down as we approach the surface, and use shorter bursts to get us the rest of the way out. 

I'm the first out of the lake. Is it cheating to have foreknowledge of future events to give myself an advantage? Well, I suppose not, considering it's still using my own natural magical abilities to do so. It's not like I was really trying to win the tournament so much as survive, anyway. 

" _Rennervate_ ," I murmur, pointing my wand at Draco. 

"Mrr, huh?" Draco says. "Oh, hello, Stormseeker. Did you win?" 

"I'm the first out of the lake, and there's no sign of the others yet," I say. "If they don't give me top marks for that, I might have to hex someone." I snicker softly. 

Draco and I sit on the shore waiting for the others to return. 

Madam Pomfrey comes out of a tent and approaches us. "I must look you over to make sure you're alright," Pomfrey says. 

"I'm fine," I say. 

"You always say you're fine, even if you're about to keel over dead!" Pomfrey says. She runs a few quick diagnostic spells over me. "Well, it appears in this case that you're correct. I'll leave you be, then." 

Cedric returns with Cho, and Viktor with Katrina, but Fleur doesn't appear to have the little girl with her. "Gabrielle!" Fleur is saying. "Is she alright? She isn't hurt, is she?" 

"I'm sure they wouldn't actually _really_ endanger anyone but the champions," I assure her reasonably. 

Sure enough, a pair of merpeople appear at the surface of the lake briefly and leave the little girl on the shore. Fleur goes over to Gabrielle's side, looking much relieved. 

Ludo Bagman begins announcing the scores. "Harry Potter used the Bubble-Head Charm and a very creative use of the Energy Stream Curse. He arrived with twenty-nine minutes left, and was the only champion to return within the time limit. The judges award him the full score of fifty points!" 

I have to lay back in the grass and laugh about that. And it only took me two deaths to do it, too! 

"I never would have thought to use the Energy Stream Curse like that," Viktor says. "What's so funny?" 

"You know _why_ I came up with that?" I say. "Because I can't swim!" I roll on the ground laughing. 

* * *

With the second task out of the way, and with me even having managed to complete it without using any Unforgivables, the next stretch of school promises to be a bit more relaxing. 

I really don't want to teach the Killing Curse to my friends. It could be extremely dangerous if any stray spells go flying around. But Hermione won't leave me alone about it. 

"I got the Imperius Curse down well enough," Hermione says. 

"You got it down way faster than I did," I say. "You had Crabbe doing cartwheels in no time!" 

"Well, it wasn't exactly _no_ time," Hermione says. "Still, when are you going to get to the Killing Curse?" 

"I think it might be best to do that spell one-on-one," I say. "Why are you so eager to learn it?" 

"You did have a point about it," Hermione says. "If you want something dead, it's the cleanest and most efficient way of doing it. And it would be good to know, in case I ever need something to die by the most expedient means possible." 

"I concede," I say in exasperation. I'm not going to get out of teaching it at least to Hermione. Let the extermination of the castle's vermin commence again. 

* * *

"Hey, Sirius," Draco says in our dorm. 

Padfoot cocks his head at Draco and shifts into human form. "What is it, Draco?" 

"You know I love you, right? You're my favorite cousin?" 

Sirius gives Draco an odd look. "What's this about?" 

"Oh, I was just wondering if you'd mind if I spent Easter holidays at your place," Draco says. 

"Did something happen with your father?" I ask. 

"Um..." Draco looks at the floor. "He kind of branded me a blood traitor and told me I'm not welcome in Malfoy Manor again so long as he draws breath." 

I stare at him. "This is about Hermione, isn't it?" 

Draco nods. "He was _not_ happy about the Yule Ball." 

Sirius gives Draco a big hug. "Ah, Draco, I never knew you had it in you! I'm proud of you, cousin!" 

"You're smothering me, Sirius," Draco says, worming his way free after a minute. "Do you mind if Hermione comes to visit for a bit, too?" 

"She's certainly welcome if she wants to come," Sirius says. "I ran away from home when I was sixteen, you know. I was lucky that my uncle was willing to give me some money." 

"He couldn't actually disown me or anything, at least," Draco says. "Not his only heir." 

* * *

Easter this year falls upon the final day of the full moon, so Padfoot, Moony, and I wind up spending the holiday together in furry form, and sleep all through the following day. When we wake up later in the evening, we discover that Hermione has already arrived by the portkey she was given before leaving Hogwarts. 

"I was wondering when you furballs were going to get up," Draco says lightly. 

"Hello, Hermione," I say. "Did you have a good Easter with your parents?" 

"It was nice," Hermione says. "Oh, they gave me some sugar-free candy to give to you guys." She points to a box on the table. 

"What's the point in sugar-free candy?" Sirius asks in puzzlement. 

"Hey, Remus," Draco says. "There any chance you could accompany us to Diagon Alley tomorrow? We've got some stuff we wanted to look into." 

"Certainly," Remus says. 

"A trip to Diagon Alley?" I say. "That sounds like fun." 

"Can I come?" Sirius asks. 

"Eh, why not, I'm sure they're getting plenty used to the idea that Harry Potter has a dog," I say, shrugging. 

So we make an outing of the next day. We stop in and do a little shopping. I pick up another book on medieval Latin in hopes of deciphering some of the more obscure words in the Chamber of Secrets books. We've come a long way on our Latin, but without the Book of Truths, it constantly feels like we're missing some key piece of the puzzle. 

"Let's go to Gringotts now," Draco says. 

"Need more money?" I ask. 

Draco shakes his head. "Not for that. We wanted to do a blood test on Hermione. See what families she's really descended from." 

"You're not afraid that you might wind up being disappointed?" I ask. 

"It's not going to actually change anything," Draco says. At my look of surprise, he says, "You don't seriously think I really believe that Ravenclaw's secret heir stuff, do you? When it comes down to it, it doesn't really matter who she's descended from. She's still the best witch in our year, hands down." 

"Now you're thinking like a Chelseer," I comment offhandedly. 

We head over to Gringotts. Draco explains to the goblins what he wants, and Hermione gives over a blood sample for them to run their tests on. 

After a while, the goblin Bogrod comes out again to give us the results. "We have determined that she is not the heir of any of our vaults. And it does not appear that she's descended from Rowena Ravenclaw, nor any of the other Hogwarts founders, at all." 

"Her magic couldn't have just come from nowhere," I say. 

"The best we can determine is that she might be descended from Merlin," Bogrod says. 

" _Merlin?_ " Draco says excitedly. 

"That's not saying much, however," Bogrod goes on. "The majority of the wizards in modern Britain are descended from Merlin." 

"Oh," Draco says, deflated. 

"The magic in her bloodline must have been dormant for a long, long time if she's not descended from any of the current magical families," I say. 

"Yes, the old families prefer to disown their Squibs, but that doesn't change their blood," the goblin says. "We would still be able to tell she was descended from one of them." 

"Are you alright with this, Draco?" I ask. 

"Of course," Draco replies with a snort. "Actually, to tell you the truth, I didn't really expect anything different anyway." 

"Hmm... Out of curiosity, how far back do your records go?" I ask the goblin. 

"All the way back to Atlantis, to some degree," Bogrod replies. "But there aren't any descendants of Atlantis around anymore." 

"Can you test for that?" I wonder, raising an eyebrow. "Just out of curiosity." 

"We could, but I don't see why," the goblin says. "The Atlanteans are dead and gone." 

"Is it difficult?" I ask. 

"No," Bogrod says. "We have a device in storage that will only respond to someone who possesses the blood of Atlantis. But no wizard in recent times has ever successfully activated it." 

"I say we give it a shot," I say, quirking a grin. "Now I'm curious." 

"Very well." 

Bogrod leads us back through the expanse of Gringotts storage. We come to a small room occupied only by a strange crystal device of no familiar design. If anything, it almost seems to remind me of Torn Elkandu, but how can that be? Besides, it doesn't have any runes or anything on it. 

Hermione goes up to the device and places a hand upon it. Immediately, the crystal flares to life, giving off brilliant blue light. Her eyes widen, and she breathes, "Oh, my..." 

Bogrod gapes. "I... did not expect that. Perhaps the Atlanteans are not all dead after all." He looks to me questioningly. "Did you know this would happen?" 

"Nope," I reply. "But I had to know." 

"Hah!" Draco says. "You're a genius, Stormseeker. This is _better_ than being Ravenclaw's secret heir! She's the last Atlantean!" 

I smirk at him. "What would you have done if she'd turned out to be just another Mudblood of nothing?" 

"I'd have told my father to screw himself and run off with her anyway," Draco says. "But now I can rub his face in it!" 

I laugh softly. "Ah, Draco, how you've changed." 

"So, Hermione, what does it do?" Draco asks. 

"I have no idea," Hermione admits. 

"Take it, if you want," Bogrod says. "I'll mark in the records that it was passed on to an heir of Atlantis." 

"You know..." I say thoughtfully. "You say no _wizard_ has activated this in a long time. But Hermione has a lot of Muggles in her family tree. What if the descendants of Atlantis are out among the Muggles instead, and have no idea about it?" 

"That's preposterous," Bogrod says. 

"Well, maybe I'll take this and see if I can find anyone else that will make it light up, magical or Muggle," Hermione says. "I don't have to tell them where it's really from..." 

"That's your prerogative," Bogrod says. 

* * *

Hermione gets everyone she can convince to touch the crystal device to test them, but no one else at Hogwarts can activate it, whatever it does. Draco sends an owl to his father to try to convince them that Hermione is the last heir of Atlantis, which results in a Howler being dropped on the Slytherin table the next morning. 

The third task is announced a month before the event. A hedge maze has been erected on the Quidditch grounds, much to the chagrin of the Quidditch players. Personally, I think it looks better this way. 

Then, I spot movement over by the Forbidden Forest. What could that be? It almost looks like a man. Curiously, I go over to take a look. 

It's Mr. Crouch. The senior one, that is, who hasn't been seen in months. He's babbling incoherently. 

"Weatherby," he addresses me dimly. "Weatherby, where is my tea?" 

"Mr. Crouch?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" 

"Dumbledore..." Crouch says. "Must warn Dumbledore... Dark Lord... Harry Potter... Bertha... my son... all my fault..." 

That doesn't sound good, whatever he's talking about. But I still don't trust Dumbledore. I'm not beholden to him. And what if Dumbledore realizes that I've known about Moody for months and told no one and done nothing about it? 

Life would be so much simpler if the right thing to do were clearer at times. How did things get to this point? Life goes on, one way or another, but I don't know that I like the path I've taken up to this point. 

"What do you want to tell Dumbledore?" I ask. 

"Dark Lord... grows stronger," Crouch says thickly. "I escaped... This is all my fault..." 

I could send a Patronus off to Dumbledore and have him here in minutes. But something stays my hand. 

And then Moody approaches from behind me, and I half turn to look at him. "What's this?" Moody asks. 

"He's obviously not in his right mind," I say. "He's speaking nonsense. And he thinks my name is Weatherby." 

"The Dark Lord... my son... must warn Dumbledore..." Crouch Senior mutters. 

"See? Nonsense," I say. 

"So I see," Moody says darkly. 

"The tournament... rigged..." Crouch goes on. "Dark Lord... has plans... it's a trap! Trap!" 

Crouch Senior could blow his cover. I fear for what Crouch Junior might do to his father. Can I just leave him to this Death Eater's mercy? He may not be the nicest person around, but he's not a bad person, and his son _was_ a Death Eater. It's not like he was sent to Azkaban for no reason. 

Moody raises his wand to Mr. Crouch, and I step between them and cast, " _Protego!_ " 

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Moody asks. 

"The right thing," I say with a sigh. 

"Why would you think I was about to attack him?" Moody asks. 

"Constant vigilance!" I retort. 

Moody snorts. "Your diligence is admirable, but misplaced. Step aside, Potter." 

"No," I say. 

"Potter, I'm warning you..." Moody says. 

"Do what you must," I say. "I must stand by the choices that I can live with." 

"So be it, then," Moody says. " _Obliviate. Stupefy._ "


	71. Flash of Doom

The day of the third task finally arrives. I'm nervous. The last task almost seems like it was too easy. What horrible things does the universe have in store for me today? 

"You alright there, Harry?" Susan Lawson asks me. 

"That depends on your definition of 'alright'," I reply. 

Lawson chuckles. "Well, you did a smashing job in the last two events. I'm sure you've got this one in the bag. Just keep your wits about you and put your skills to use. Go out there and show them what you're made of." 

"I'll see what I can do," I say, giving her a grin and showing her more confidence than I feel. Inwardly, I'm having to wonder just how many deaths are ahead of me for today. 

Ludo Bagman starts in with the announcements and details what will be happening in the third task. We'll be entering the maze at different times. Cedric will go first, then Viktor, then me, and then Fleur. I really should have gotten more points for the first task, but I'm not going to complain. At least I completed it alive. 

Then, when my turn comes, I head into the maze. I wander around for a bit, trying to get my bearings and make a map of the maze in my head. After a short while, I come face to face -- or face to _something_ , anyway -- with Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. They're enormous, and I can be thankful that not all of them survived. 

Still, I grin gleefully. I've been waiting for this for a while. " _Avada Kedavra!_ " A flash of green light, and one of the abominations of nature drops dead. Delightful! I'm caught up in the sheer pleasure of slaying the monstrosities that I don't realize at first that my robes are on fire. The surviving skrewts pile upon me, knocking my wand out of my hand and ripping me apart. 

* * *

I wake up, and think myself an idiot. I have to wonder just how many of my deaths are the direct result of me being an idiot. I shake my head at myself. I go through the motions of today again, not even bothering to mention that death to my friends. Then, after dinner, I stand before the maze once more. 

I head into the maze again when my turn comes, and make a point to avoid the skrewts this time. I turn around this way and that, and then I feel a sudden soul-numbing chill, and see a black-robed figure drifting toward me. 

I focus hard upon the rainbow after the storm. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " My silver duck flies out from the end of my wand straight at the monster's face. The Dementor stumbles back and trips over the hem of its robes. "Boggart," I mutter, chuckling in amusement at that. " _Riddikulus!_ " The creature vanishes in a wisp of smoke. 

I continue on, stumbling into several dead ends, and then spot ahead of me a strange golden mist. I frown a little, peering at it, wondering what it might do, when I hear a girl's scream from somewhere ahead. Sounds like Fleur has run into some sort of trouble. 

To the Abyss with it. I don't care to see anyone die here today needlessly. I charge forward into the mist. As it touches me, the world suddenly seems to turn upside down. My feet leave the ground, and I go falling into the air. I panic for a moment, and then I suddenly think it's kind of like being underwater. I propel myself away with an Energy Stream Curse, vaguely pointing in the general direction I thought I heard Fleur's voice. 

I don't see any sign of Fleur, but I soon overhear Cedric saying to someone, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

Krum's voice shouts, " _Crucio!_ " 

Cedric's screams fill the air. Without pausing for a moment to think, I dash off in the direction of the sound. There I find Krum, standing over Cedric's twitching body. 

" _Stupefy!_ " I cast. My spell strikes Krum in the side, and he collapses unconscious. I rush up to Cedric's side. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," Cedric says breathlessly, still shaking. "Yeah... I can't believe... I can't believe he did that..." 

"Did you see any sign of Fleur?" I ask. 

"I heard her a minute ago, but I didn't see her," Cedric says. "Do you think Krum got her too?" 

"I don't know," I say. "I hope she's alright." 

"Should we just leave him here?" Cedric wonders. 

"He'll probably get eaten by a skrewt," I say. 

"He'd deserve it," Cedric mutters, but he nonetheless shoots up red sparks to mark the spot and call someone to come get Viktor. "I suppose we'd better get on with it." 

"Right," I say. We head off again in different directions. 

Up ahead, I come across a sphinx. The body of a large, powerful lion, coupled with the head of a woman. "The quickest way to your goal is past me," says the sphinx. "You may pass if you answer my riddle. If you answer incorrectly, I will devour you. If you remain silent, I will let you walk away." 

Ugh, riddles. "Fine, tell me your riddle, then." 

"First think of the person who lives in disguise,  
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.  
Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,  
The middle of middle or end of the end?  
And finally give me the sound often heard  
During the search for a hard-to-find word.  
Now string them together, and answer me this,  
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?" 

"Hmm..." I murmur thoughtfully. "A rogue... the heart? Um... A Dementor? No, that can't be it... well, I wouldn't really be _unwilling_ to kiss anything else, if I had reason to..." 

The sphinx looks at me. "You're really bad at this, aren't you. Is that your answer?" 

"I know!" I say. "A demon lives in disguise when it's trying to lure people in. And uh, ment is the past tense of mend, right? And, er... Er!" 

The sphinx puts her face in her paws. "That's a very... creative answer. But no." She lashes out at me, swiping at me with her claws and tearing me apart. 

* * *

I wake, and rub my eyes. Well, that was obviously not the answer. And I'm starting to get tired now. It definitely doesn't help that the task is toward the end of the day. I think I'd best just sleep the day away. 

I poke my head out of my curtains and say, "Hey, guys, I'm going to sleep some more. Can you make sure I'm up for dinner?" 

"Sure," Blaise says. 

I pull out another Dream Sweet and curl up for several more hours of sleep. 

At dinner, I ask, "Hey, Hermione, you're good at riddles... Can you help me out with this one?" I repeat the one the sphinx gave me. 

Hermione looks at me oddly. "Does this have anything to do with the upcoming task?" 

"There's a sphinx in it," I say. "And she got cranky when I guessed 'Dementor'. But I couldn't think of anything else that I wouldn't want to kiss." 

"It's a spider," Hermione says. 

"You'd kiss a spider?" Draco asks. "You really are desperate." 

"If I had reason to, I suppose..." I say. 

"Did you get killed by the sphinx?" Neville asks. 

I nod. "But at least now I know the answer should I run into her again." 

"Don't mention it," Hermione mutters. "I suppose it doesn't say anywhere in the rules that you can't go back in time and ask your friends about it." 

After dinner, I stand before the maze again, and head in at the appointed time. Avoid the skrewts, cast a _Riddikulus_ at the boggart, propel myself through the mist... 

I made it through to this point faster than the last time. Now I stumble upon Fleur shortly after Viktor got to her, but I don't actually see Viktor himself nearby. I'd been hoping to catch him before he could hurt anyone, but this section of the maze was unfamiliar to me. I shoot up red sparks for someone to come and get her. Cedric should be somewhere around here too. 

"What are you doing?" Cedric's voice demands. 

" _Crucio!_ " Viktor says. 

" _Stupefy!_ " I cast, and Viktor falls unconscious. "Cedric, you alright?" 

"Yeah, I think so," Cedric says. "Thanks. Did you see Fleur?" 

"I stumbled across her, too," I say. "I sent up sparks for her." I do so for Viktor as well. "Best make sure he isn't eaten by skrewts." 

"I say he'd deserve it," Cedric says. "Let's get on with it." 

We part ways. I run across the sphinx again, and patiently allow her to recite her riddle before replying, "Spider." She steps aside and lets me pass this time. 

I head off past the sphinx. Unfortunately, whatever time I might have saved is for naught, as I promptly get lost again. Then, ahead, I spot the gleaming cup sitting on a pedestal ahead. Cedric is ahead of me, though. He's going to get there first. But his eyes are on the cup, and he doesn't notice something large about to attack him. 

"Cedric, look out!" I call out. 

Cedric turns in surprise, and stumbles, his wand flying out of his hand as a giant spider bears down upon him. An Acromantula, on top of everything else? 

" _Stupefy!_ " I cast, but the spider is unaffected. I throw a few more spells at it to no effect. I might get through with a Killing Curse, but I'm afraid I'd accidentally hit Cedric instead. 

Cedric is injured, but my spells have caught the spider's attention. I frantically dodge out of the way, not wanting to die in this maze again when I'm so close to the goal. Cedric scrambles to grab his own wand. 

" _Stupefy!_ " we cast in unison. The doubled-up spell causes the spider to keel over. 

"You alright there, Cedric?" I ask. 

"Think so," Cedric says. "Doesn't look too bad. You?" 

"I'm fine," I say. I'm standing within feet of the Triwizard Cup. I could reach out and grab it from where I stand. 

"Go on, then," Cedric says. "Take it. You've won." 

I shake my head. "That wouldn't be fair. We won it together." 

Cedric chuckles softly. "You know, for all they say you're a vile dark wizard bent upon ruling the world with an iron fist as the next Dark Lord, you're certainly concerned about fairness and honor." 

" _Episkey_ ," I say, pointing to Cedric's bleeding leg. "I wasn't in Gryffindor for no reason. But it seems like a lot of people aren't willing to listen." I sigh. "I wish things could have been different." 

"Maybe they still can be," Cedric says. " _I'll_ put in a good word for you. After you've won this tournament." 

"Come on," I say. "Let's both grab it at the same time, and say to hell with this tournament. Let's show them that cooperation and teamwork are what's important, not ruthless infighting." 

"That's very Hufflepuff of you," Cedric says. "Alright. Let's do it." 

Cedric stumbles over toward me, and the two of us reach out and take hold of the cup at the same time. I feel a jerk behind my navel, like a portkey, and the two of us are swept away... 

When we finally land, I have no idea where we are. Our surroundings are completely unfamiliar. We could be hundreds of miles away. We're in an old graveyard, and a house stands on a hill in the distance. 

"Is this part of the task?" Cedric wonders. 

I frown. "I have a bad feeling about this," I say quietly. "Wands out. Stand ready." I slip into Storm Army command mode automatically. Cedric doesn't argue, holding his wand out, alert for attack. 

Someone's coming. I try to make out the figure in the darkness. Friend or foe? It wouldn't do to charge in, wands a-blazing, if we were supposed to be sent here for the victory party or something. Somehow, I doubt that, however. 

Then I see that the figure is wearing a turban, and carrying a bundle of cloth. A baby? 

An eerie voice says, "Kill the spare." 

Another voice shrieks, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

A flash of green light jets toward us, and Cedric drops to the ground. I gape down at him, horrified. It all happened so quickly... and it was entirely my fault that he was here in the first place. 

"CEDRIC!" I scream. My blood runs cold for a moment, then flashes to boiling rage in an instant. " _FULGORIS!_ " 

Lightning explodes all around me. Electricity rips through my body. I cast it in the general direction of Cedric's murderer. But I've overcharged it. I can't survive this. Crackling. Agony. Then it's over. 

* * *

I wake. _Shit_. It's a trap. It's a trap. The whole bloody tournament is a trap. Oh, Cedric... 

That man I saw. It had to be Quirrell. The Dark Lord. Did he plan it this way all along? Was this why I was entered into the tournament? This hasn't just been a big conspiracy to try to get me killed. They wanted me alive. They went to a lot of trouble to bring me there alive. 

Tampering with the tournament portkey? Couldn't they have come up with a more expedient way to do it? Especially since it was hardly a given that I would succeed. But wait, maybe that was why Viktor was attacking the other champions. Perhaps he was under the Imperius Curse, and they wanted the others out of the way to ensure that I would be the one to get the cup. 

_Crouch!_ I've known he was a Death Eater for months, and did nothing about it. Was this his plan all along? Was he the one to tamper with the portkey? 

"Stormseeker?" Blaise's voice says. "You coming to dinner?" 

"I'm coming," I say, getting out of bed and getting dressed, my thoughts on anything but dinner. 

I'm hardly interested in eating, but I force myself to do so anyway. "I've a date with the Dark Lord tonight," I tell my friends quietly as we eat. "I don't know if I'll be coming back." 

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asks. 

"The tournament is rigged," I say. "The cup is a portkey to a graveyard somewhere... Quirrell was there." 

"So back out!" Blaise says. "Tell someone! Don't walk right into the trap!" 

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm going to kill him." 

"Are you _insane?_ " Draco says. 

"I think that's a given," Theodore says. 

"You'd walk into near-certain doom just for a chance to defeat You-Know-Who?" Neville says. 

"I think you should just tell Dumbledore," Hermione says quietly. 

"He killed Cedric," I say. "We both took the cup at the same time." I take a deep breath. " _Kill the spare_ , he said. Fuck..." 

"So you're going to kill him," Blaise says flatly. 

"That's very Gryffindor," Draco says. 

"I think you can do it, boss," Crabbe says quietly. 

"I can get the drop on him," I say. "Avada Kedavra before he knows it, and it's all over. Nobody else has to die... No more lives ruined. No more orphans." 

"I hate to put a damper on your enthusiasm, but killing one Dark Lord isn't going to magically solve all of the problems of the wizarding world," Blaise points out softly. 

"I know," I say. "But it's a damned good start." 

I finish up dinner and get ready for the third task again. How many times have I been through this maze so far today? Maybe, if all goes well, this will be the last time. 

I head into the maze at the proper time. I know exactly which way to go now, and dart this way and that, heading straight for the cup, neutralizing any obstacles along the way. I spot Viktor before he even has a chance to encounter Fleur this time, and pre-emptively Stun him and send up sparks for him. I tell the sphinx the answer to her riddle before she even has a chance to say anything. 

I reach the cup well ahead of the other competitors. I rush ahead and grab it, and the portkey yanks me away, far away, to that graveyard once more. My heart is pounding. I'm nervous, excited, and I want to _kill_. Never have I felt such a desire to kill before. This monster hurt so many people, destroyed so many families, ruined so many lives. It's time to end it all, right here, right now. 

Quirrell is approaching. Wand in hand, I crouch down, alert and ready to fight. 

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ " I scream, putting all of my hate into the curse. 

A flash of green light whooshes through the air. Quirrell quickly sidesteps the spell, which bypasses him, striking nothing. Damn it! 

" _Avada--_ " I repeat, but my wand is knocked from my hand, left dangling from the wrist chain. 

Even as I fumble around trying to get my wand in hand again, I find myself slammed against a headstone and bound there with tight ropes. Quirrell checks the ropes to make sure they're secure, and removes my wand from its chain. I'm helpless and unarmed now. This was not how I'd intended this encounter to go at all. 

"So, the Boy-Who-Lived is using Unforgivables freely now," Quirrell drawls in amusement. "But you're aiming them toward the wrong target. You seek to play dark against dark, do you?" 

"Planning to sacrifice me at the hour of midnight on the summer solstice?" I ask. 

"Not this time," Quirrell replies. 

He brings forth a large cauldron and places it in front of the grave. The bundle that he placed on the ground nearby is squirming, and when I take a closer look at it, I see that it appears to contain some sort of inhuman baby. Reddish-black, with gleaming red eyes, an almost scaly appearance. The cauldron, meanwhile, is sparking and bubbling. 

I should just end this now. Kill myself and deny him the victory. I don't want him to succeed at this. But somehow that strikes me as cowardly and dishonorable. And his victory here is not yet a foregone conclusion. For one thing, I'm not actually Harry Potter, and he may well have set this up to expect Harry Potter. I decide to sit back to wait and see what happens. 

"You are entirely too calm," Quirrell says almost conversationally as he makes preparations. 

"Would you prefer me to be freaking out and screaming in terror?" I reply. "If I've lost, I can at least lose gracefully." 

"That's what I've come to expect of my student," Quirrell says with a small grin. "You are not stupid." 

Quirrell places the strange baby into the cauldron, where it sinks beneath the potion. 

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Quirrell says. 

The grave beneath my feet opens up, and a thin stream of dust drifts up into the air and into the cauldron. 

"Flesh of the servant... willingly given... you will revive your master," Quirrell says. 

I can't help but stare as I watch Quirrell, trembling, cleanly slice off his own hand to drop into the cauldron. He's insane, although I can't help but feel a twinge of admiration toward his devotion. 

"Blood of the enemy... forcefully taken... you will resurrect your foe!" Quirrell says. 

The wrong enemy, I think. He stabs me in the arm, collects a bit of my blood in a vial, and pours it into the cauldron. The potion within instantly turns a brilliant silver color, letting off wild sparks in every direction. Quirrell drops to his knees, clutching his bleeding stump. I'm still bleeding, too, but at least he didn't cut off _my_ hand. 

Then, after a few minutes, the sparks die down and the light fades away. Something is emerging from the cauldron. Human-shaped, but covered in smooth, black scales, with a reptilian tail, snout, and wings. 

"What... what is this?" hisses the draconian. 

"You just resurrected yourself with dragon's blood," I say simply. 

"How can that be?" Voldemort says. "This must be some sort of trick! Quirrell, what did you do?" 

"That blood... came from his veins... master..." Quirrell murmurs. 

"I don't see what you're complaining about," I say. "Dragons are awesome." 

"Hmm," Voldemort says. "It's true that I feel quite powerful. But you... _you_ are not Harry Potter. Who _are_ you?" 

"You don't say," I drawl. "I'm a decoy. My name is Lexen Chelseer. You will never find the real Harry Potter." 

Voldemort glares at me with glowing blood red eyes. "No matter. I will search for him in due time. Now, however, I must deal with _you_. Lexen Chelseer. Let it not be said that I am not a generous lord. I will give you one last opportunity to swear yourself to me. Serve me, and I will spare your life." 

I shake my head a little. "No. I won't do that." 

"You deny me, even now?" Voldemort says. He raises a wand toward me. " _Crucio!_ " 

Agony rips through my body. The wound on my arm feels like nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse. It's like molten lava in my veins, searing me from the inside out. Then, mercifully, it ends. 

"Kill me," I whisper. "Just... kill me and get it over with already." The trouble with that curse is that it's nigh impossible to focus on my Time Magic with it going, so I can't even easily escape from it _that_ way. 

"Begging for death already, Chelseer?" Voldemort says. "I don't think so. _Crucio!_ " 

I desperately _try_ to focus on my Time Magic, at least. _Kill me_ , I think frantically through waves of burning agony. _I want to die_. Every nerve ablaze with pain. _Make me older. Older! Much older! OLDER!_

* * *

I wake, screaming. But there's no pain any longer. I pant softly. I did it. I got away from the torture. 

"Stormseeker?" Blaise says in concern. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," I say, getting up. "Yeah..." 

"Why were you screaming?" Blaise asks. 

"Cruciatus Curse," I reply as I get dressed. 

"What happened?" Blaise wonders. "Did one of the other competitors use that against you?" 

I shake my head. "I'll explain at dinner." 

I finish getting dressed and head down to eat with my friends. How am I going to deal with this? It seems like the perfect opportunity to kill the Dark Lord, but _how_? I think I'm going to need help. 

"The tournament is a trap," I explain to my friends quickly under our usual privacy spell. "The cup is a portkey to a graveyard where the Dark Lord is going to hold a resurrection ritual using my blood." 

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione breathes. 

"Help me out here, guys," I say. "There's got to be some way to take advantage of this to kill him! I'm not Harry Potter. My blood is actually dragon's blood. He doesn't resurrect as human, but as a dragon-man." 

"That's weird," Draco says. 

"Hmm," Blaise says thoughtfully. "You could try using something that harms dragons against him. It's too bad you don't have any of the legendary dragon-slaying weapons available, though. I don't even know where you might find one of them." 

"Dragon-slaying weapons..." I murmur. "I'm sure I've run across one of those, actually. Where was it? It feels like ages ago... Frozen Viper, it was called. It froze me to death at the merest touch. Ah! Knockturn Alley! It was in Borgin and Burke's!" 

"I wonder if it's still there," Neville says. 

I start to get up from the table. I need that dagger. I hope it's still there. I _hope_ it is. 

"Where are you going?" Theodore asks. 

"I need that dagger," I say. "I'm going to go get it. Right now. As quickly as possible. Someone needs to come with me, though. I can't touch it, myself." 

"I'll go," Draco says, getting up to go along with me. 

The two of us rush down into the Slytherin common room and over to the fireplace. "Knockturn Alley!" we say, tossing in a pinch of Floo powder. 

I rush down the street to Borgin and Burke's, Draco close behind me. It's been a while since I've been in here, and nothing good has ever come of my visits, but maybe this time will be different. 

Mr. Borgin looks up at us and says, "Ah, young customers? What can I do for you?" 

"Do you still have Frozen Viper?" I ask. 

"Huh?" Borgin says. "No, I'm afraid not--" 

"Who bought it?" I demand. 

"I don't--" 

"Will this be bribery or threats?" I say, glaring at him. 

"I don't _know_ where it is," Borgin says. "It was stolen." 

I sigh. "Of course. Nothing can ever be easy. When was it stolen?" 

"Around Easter, two years ago," Borgin replies. 

I frown. "Draco, was that about the time of the argument?" 

"Yeah... Yeah, I think it was," Draco replies. 

"Mr. Borgin, did anyone else express an interest in it?" I ask. 

"Lucius Malfoy inquired about it at one point," Borgin says. "But that was over four years ago. A few others have expressed interest, but no one else specifically asked for it by name." 

"How did you ever get your hands on a legendary dragon-slaying weapon, anyway?" I ask. 

Borgin shrugs. "An old witch sold it to me about ten years ago for far less than it was worth. She seemed happy to get a few galleons to be rid of it." 

"I see," I say. I flip him a galleon. "Thanks for the information. Come on, Draco. Let's go see if we can find it." 

We return to the Floo we came in at. "Malfoy Manor!" 

The two of us arrive at Draco's ancestral home and look around. "Doesn't look like anyone's home," Draco says. 

"Good," I say. "Let's check the secret room first." We head down to the basement and up to the wall that actually conceals the secret door. I tap it with my wand and make the proper movement, and say, " _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ " 

The door opens, and we step inside and look around. "Wow," Draco murmurs. "I've never actually been in here. There's so much stuff... I never realized this was all here!" 

However, after a quick search of the place, I don't see anything resembling the icy dagger. "Doesn't look like it's here." 

"Let's ask one of the house-elves," Draco says. "Dobby!" 

Dobby obediently pops into existence next to us. "Yes, Young Master?" 

"Do you know if there's a magic dragon-slaying dagger somewhere in this house?" Draco says. "It's called Frozen Viper." 

I give him a quick description of it. 

Dobby's eyes widen a little. "Yes, Dobby is seen it!" 

"Where?" Draco asks. 

"But maybe Dobby shouldn't tell," Dobby says uneasily. "Master is unhappy with Young Master. Young Master not supposed to be in the house!" 

"Dobby," I say. "Have you had to punish yourself a lot recently? Shut your ears in the oven, and so forth?" 

"Yes..." Dobby says dejectedly, looking at the floor. 

"And I forbid you from punishing yourself," Draco says. "So don't you dare start now." 

"Young Master always good to Dobby. Better than Dobby deserve. But Master... I will not speak ill of Master! He has been under much stress lately! Ever since the argument, he not been the same." 

"The argument at Easter two years ago?" I ask. 

"Yes," Dobby says. 

"Look, Dobby," Draco says. "My father isn't himself. Someone messed with his mind around that Easter. He wouldn't want this. He would not have actually wanted any of this, I'm sure of it." 

"Well..." Dobby says. "Master not tell Dobby _not_ to tell you. Master not tell Dobby anything at all about magic knife. So Dobby tell you magic knife in Master's office desk upstairs." 

"Thanks, Dobby," Draco says. "Treat yourself to a biscuit and take the rest of the day off. That's an order." 

"But Master might punish--" 

"And I already forbade you to punish yourself," Draco says. "So don't argue with me." 

"Yes, Young Master," Draco says. "Thank you, Young Master." Dobby disappears. 

Draco and I quickly climb back upstairs and make our way to Lucius' office. We're running short on time. The task will begin any minute now. 

"In the desk," Draco says, trying it. "Locked... _Alohomora!_ " A jolt of red electricity shoots out of the desk and strikes him. 

"Draco!" I say. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah..." Draco says. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little stunned." 

"We don't have time to try to break through these sorts of safeguards," I say. "Is there a key around here somewhere?" 

" _Reducto!_ " Draco casts at the desk, to no effect. "Damn it, too many protections." 

I put my wand to the drawer and speak the Malfoy family motto again. This time it opens with a click. "Ah, that wasn't too hard," I say. Inside the drawer, there are a number of parchments I don't really care about that probably contain some sort of sensitive information Lucius doesn't want anyone else to see. But more importantly, tucked off to one side in a sheathe, lies Frozen Viper. 

Draco carefully picks it up and wraps it up in a cloth. "Will you be able to handle it like this?" 

"I should be," I say. I touch it experimentally. It feels ice cold even through the cloth, but at least it isn't lethal this way. I slip it into my bag of holding. 

We head out downstairs back toward the Floo. I freeze at the top of the stairs. Voices. Lucius and Narcissa are home. Shit. 

"Stormseeker," Draco whispers. "I'll distract them. You get to the Floo and get out of here." 

"Draco..." 

"No time to argue," Draco says, rushing down the stairs. 

I pull my invisibility cloak out of my bag and drape it over me quickly, and follow after him. 

" _You_ ," Lucius snaps. "Didn't I tell you not to come back here?" 

"You can't keep me out of my own home, Father," Draco says, pointing his wand at Lucius. 

"You dare pull a wand on your own father?" Lucius says. "And you call yourself my son?" 

"I've chosen my path," Draco says. "I choose to follow the Stormseeker!" He throws out a few spells that aren't particularly harmful, but are certainly flashy and distracting. 

I take that as my cue, and rush over to the fireplace. I toss a pinch of powder in and say, "Hogwarts, Slytherin common room!" I dive in, just as Lucius pelts a spell in my direction. 

I stumble out of the fireplace at the far end, pain in my leg. He managed to hit me with a lucky shot. I fall over, cloak slipping off of me. 

"Stormseeker!" Neville says. "Are you alright?" 

"I got it," I say, pulling off my cloak and stuffing it in my bag. "Hit with a curse... Don't think it's bad." 

"The third task has already begun," Blaise says. 

" _Episkey_ ," Neville says, and some of the pain in my leg fades. 

"Let's go," I say. 

We rush out toward the Quidditch pitch. The other champions have already all entered the maze. "Potter!" Ludo Bagman says. "You're late!" 

"Then I'll just take that as a penalty," I say, heading into the maze. 

I'm limping a little, and I need to hurry. I know which way I'm going. I avoid or bypass each obstacle I run across. I hear Fleur's screams in the distance, and come upon Viktor torturing Cedric. 

" _Stupefy!_ " I cast, and Viktor falls unconscious. "You okay, Cedric?" 

"Thanks," Cedric says. "I was wondering if you were going to show up." 

"I had something I needed to do first," I say. "Cedric, we need to talk. It's urgent." 

"More urgent than us completing this task?" Cedric says, raising an eyebrow. 

"The task doesn't matter," I say. "It's a trap. The cup in the middle is a portkey to the Dark Lord's resurrection ceremony." 

" _What?_ " Cedric says, looking at me wide-eyed. "How can that be? Nobody could tamper with the tournament like that..." 

"I've learned in my life that things which people proclaim to be 'impossible' often show up to surprise them," I say dryly. "Look, Cedric... I'm a time traveler. I've just repeated this day... well, several times now. This was how I was able to compete the other tasks so easily. Because I went through them several times until I knew exactly what I was doing." 

Cedric stares at me. "This is all a little hard to take in. But alright, let's say I believe you. What are we supposed to do, then?" 

"I need your help," I say. I pull out the wrapped dagger from my bag and pass it over to him. "This is a dragon-slaying dagger. I have dragon's blood in my veins. The Dark Lord is going to use my blood to resurrect himself. When he does that, I need you to stab him with it. If you don't believe me, you can use it on _me_ and go claim the cup for yourself." I sigh. 

Cedric unwraps the dagger and takes it out, peering at it. "I don't think you have any reason to lie about this, especially with such an incredible, elaborate story. If all you wanted was the cup, you could have left me to Krum." He glares over at Viktor's unconscious body. "But how am I supposed to sneak up on You-Know-Who?" 

I pull the invisibility cloak out of my bag and pass that over to him as well. "That's an invisibility cloak. Put it on before we grab the cup. Wait until the resurrection ceremony is completed and he's distracted." 

"Alright," Cedric says, nodding. "Let's do this, then. Lead the way." 

We make our way through the maze. When we come up to the sphinx, I say, "Spider." She looks at me oddly and steps aside with a feline shrug. 

"I'll believe this time travel business..." Cedric says, blinking. 

"There's an Acromantula near the cup," I say. "We need to stun it in unison." 

"Alright..." 

We come upon the giant spider. " _Stupefy!_ " we cast simultaneously. The Acromantula falls unconscious. 

Cedric looks over toward the cup. "Can't we just avoid this whole resurrection ceremony altogether?" he asks. "Shoot up sparks and tell someone what's going on?" 

"I'm hoping to kill the Dark Lord once and for all here," I say. "It's dangerous, especially to me, but if we can stop him here and now..." 

Cedric looks at me in admiration. "They shouldn't have expelled you. I hope they change their minds, once we come back from this." 

"I hope we come back from this," I say quietly. "Alright, are you ready for this? Remember, don't strike until he's alive and distracted, no matter what is happening to me." 

Cedric gives a terse nod. "Understood." He pulls the invisibility cloak on around him and vanishes. "Let's do this," says his voice from thin air. 

"Grab the cup on the count of three," I say. "One... two... three!" 

I take a hold of the portkey, and feel myself wrenched away, tumbling through space, to land in the graveyard again. I reach out to feel for Cedric to make sure he's there. 

"I'm here," Cedric whispers. 

"Alright," I murmur. "Stand aside and be ready." I pull out my wand and peer about. 

Quirrell is approaching. My heart is pounding. Nervous, excited, afraid, thrilling with anticipation. I feign confusion and surprise as Quirrell conjures ropes around me, tying me to the headstone, and relieves me of my wand. 

"So nice of you to join us, Potter," Quirrell says, bringing over the cauldron. 

"I do so hate to disappoint," I say dryly. 

Quirrell continues with the ritual again. Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy... The cauldron flares to life, giving off radiant sparks in every direction. Quirrell slumps to the ground clutching his wrist, falling over onto his side. 

Lord Voldemort emerges from the cauldron, in full black draconian glory once more. "What is this?" he demands in alarm. "Did you somehow sabotage the ritual in some way, Potter?" 

"That was because you used _my_ blood," I say. "I am of the Dragon's Blood! And you will regret fucking with me, you monster. I will have my revenge upon you!" 

"Will you, now?" Voldemort says. He pulls out a wand and points it at me. " _Crucio!_ " 

Pain rips through me for an agonizing second, but my screams are interrupted by a draconic screech. Voldemort is shrieking now as deadly ice rapidly covers his body and consumes him. With Cedric still invisible, it looks as though he's just spontaneously solidifying into ice. The black draconian goes rigid, and falls over to the ground like a statue. 

" _Reducto_ ," says Cedric's voice, and the frozen remains of Voldemort shatter into a million icy shards. "Are you alright, Harry?" He pulls off the cloak and waves his wand. The ropes binding me fall away. 

"Cedric, you're a real hero," I say, beaming at him. 

"Nah," Cedric says. "All I did was exactly what you told me to do." 

"You're a true Hufflepuff, is what you are," I say. 

" _Accio_ Harry's wand," Cedric murmurs, and my wand flies into his hand. "Here you go. Let's get out of here, shall we? We can talk all about it later." 

As we head back toward the portkey, I can't shake the nagging feeling that I've forgotten something important. 

" _Avada--_ " says a voice from behind me. 

I spin around in alarm, like the world is moving in slow motion. 

" _Kedavra!_ " screams Quirrell. 

A flash of green light. And the world is no more. 

* * *

I wake with a gasp, thinking that I'm going to have to do it all again. But then I realize, I'm not in the Slytherin dorm any longer. I'm smaller, younger, and in my room at the School of Thought in Torn Elkandu. 

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for several minutes as it all sinks in. That was the first time I've actually been hit with Avada Kedavra. It seems that, just as the basilisk's gaze sends me back to the first day that I died, so does the Killing Curse. 

Still, I can't regret that end. I hope that Cedric made it out alright. I hope Lucius wasn't foolish enough to actually hurt his only son and heir. But we defeated the Dark Lord. It's over. It might not be 'happily ever after', but it was still a happy ending. 

In a way, I think I'm more relieved than anything else. Toward the end there, especially after having been expelled from Hogwarts, I found myself more and more frequently wishing that I could just go back to the beginning and do it all over again. And now I'm free, in a sense. I'm free of that timeline, now, and I know one more thing that can force a full reset. A thing that's a lot easier to come by than a basilisk. 

I give a broad grin as I climb out of bed and get dressed. The whole multiverse is open to me. I want to go and explore.


End file.
